Highschool and Its Problems
by shadowed breath
Summary: Nasuada tries to fit in at a new school which is made even more difficult by the devious Murtagh Morzanson. With her already tethered world crumbling down around her, who will help her pick up the pieces...? AU story. Everything is set in a high school setting.
1. Chapter 1: First Day

Well, I just got this idea a while ago! hurray..

Well, This fanfiction will purely just be for fun for me. I'm already working on another one presently. (The Thirsty Hibiscus), which now has a complicated plot, that I am dying over. *cries to the heavens* why me!!

Anyway...this was fun to write..I'm probably gonna write the next chapter soon.. (enough..)

Well have fun!

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Chapter One

First Day

It was just like kindergarten, when parents unwillingly let go of their children. They left them to the care of nervous teachers who always braved a smile towards the unruly children. And high school was hardly different. Well, not for Nasuada.

She tightened the strap of her heavy bag over her shoulder, surveying the new campus lightly. She had always hated the idea of boarding school, but her father meant business. But that didn't mean she had to like it. She tugged at her tie uncomfortably, hating the fact that she had to wear a uniform, and took a last glance at her father who was waving supportingly at her. She weakly smiled and waved back. Then turned her attention to the large group of students on the front lawn who looked as lost as she did. "Guess those are the freshmen.." she mumbled with heading towards them.

Books, books…and more books. "God it's like the Renaissance All over again!" she complained as the block co-ordinator piled another three thick spined books unto her already large pile. Her arms trembled from the weight. She held the books steadily in her hands, walking slowly and trying her best to keep her balance. "Thanks!" she grumbled to the teacher who was busy torturing another student with the book piling. "God I hate this.." she groaned when she realized that the height of the books prevented her from seeing anything in front of her. She kept walking hoping that no one would bump into her.

"Finally, some good luck!" she grinned as the strain of the books cramped her arms numb. She had spotted the Hall monitor. Surely he would help her. "Uhm…excuse me…" she shyly began. The monitor looked up.

"HEY!...you should be at class…you Late!" immediately he began scribbling furiously in a small notepad that he seemed to procure from thin air. "Name!" he demanded not looking up from his writing.

Nasuada stared horrified at him. Hadn't he noticed the amount of books she was carrying? She stared in disbelief at the hall monitor who was obviously going to give her a detention. "On the first day of school…" she groaned inwardly.

"Erh..I'm a freshman here…and I just got my text books.." She tried to explain to the young man, but he barely looked at her. When he did however, his eyes widened. "Behind you! Get out of the way!" he tried to grab her, but it was too late. The oncoming 'traffic' had rammed into her sending the books flying and she herself crashing to the floor.

Nasuada rubbed her shoulder painfully where she had been shoved. She glared at the group of guys standing playfully around her. They had been obviously running in the hallway. (something that was not permitted). She glared particularly at the dark haired youth who had crashed into her. She growled angrily as he made no attempt to help her. Instead he stood aloof with a superior smirk playing on his pale lips.

The same hall monitor was the _only _one who attempted to help her. He picked up some of her books, while Nasuada stood up straightening her uniform. She huffed angrily, "An apology would have been nice you know!" she then grabbed her books from the hall monitor who she had already deemed an _'ass'_ for refusing to help her when she needed it before.

The young man only grinned, stepping haughtily towards her. His icy blue eyes looked at her absurdly, "You'd better watch were your going." He mumbled while brushing his shoulder rudely against hers as he walked away. The rest of the posse followed after him.

"What an asshole!" she ranted as the monitor handed her another book that had flown to the other side of the corridor. "Thanks.."

"Yeah..he's like that sometimes. Sorry about earlier." The blonde boy stuck his hand towards her. Nasuada smiled lightly. At least _someone _around here was decent.

"Eragon." He said while shaking her hand lightly. "Nasuada." She said in return. He helped her to class, offering to carry some of her books.

"So, who was that asshole?" she grumbled as they walked noiselessly down the white corridor. "Oh.." Eragon snickered. "That's just Murtagh…" Nasuada nodded rolling her eyes. "Whoever his mother was, forgot to teach him the wonders of manners." Eragon laughed even more at this. "He's my brother."

Nasuada froze staring at him. She decided to keep silent for the time being.

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Well, people you know the drill by now. Read and Review.. or you will create an angry writer..and everyone knows an angry writer is a suckie writer.. (ok..so i just made that up...oh well -_-!)

Lol

Just please read and review...! see you guys soon!


	2. Chapter 2: Prying Eyes

Yes, finally update! *well after working somemore on my chaptered fic I decided to write this* Enjoy!

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Nasuada made another failed attempt to get the purple goo out of her thick hair. She bent exasperated under the shower, as the hot water poured heavily upon her. This was yet another lesson learnt well. She had learnt three lessons over the past two days and each of them was learnt the hard way. But this consequence she deemed the most regrettable.

1. Never eat the cafeteria 'special'. No their is nothing _special _about this mush that is made up of practically everything in the cafeteria that wasn't sold the previous day. Well, that's what the students said anyway. The adults claimed it was only stew, but that didn't convince the children. One it not only did it look like diarrhea, but it was bound to **give **one diarrhea. Nasuada had spent the early session of her latter classes fumigating the bathroom, for half an hour that afternoon.

2. When a boy offers to follow you and help you with your books at your locker, there is only one thing he is after. Your ASS. No..I am not being kinky. I literally mean your A.S.S. Admition for Serious Sacrifices. Apparently some guys at the school had the view that if they were nice to a girl, they would do anything for them. Namely Murtagh and his posse, who apparently thought they owned the school. And apparently some girls were actually dumb enough to go along with it. Luckily Nasuada escaped before she was trapped.

3. Never try to get in the middle of a fight. Especially one in the science lab. People...and more importantly their hair...are/is bound to get damaged. And so was her fate. The dark skinned girl had tried to stop her new found friend Eragon from punching out this other guy named Orik, who had called him a ......well....you really don't need to know that part. All you need to know was that in return to the short guy's comment, Eragon had broken a rack of test tubes across his face. And being in the way, Nasuada became target for Orik's terrible aim, and got hot purple goo all over her...and more importantly her hair. Hot purple goo...that refused to come out!

A whole hour in the shower, trying to get the stubborn goo from her hair. She growled in irritation and flung the shampoo bottle on the floor. She frowned knowing what she had to do.

-X-

"Jesus!" A long haired girl, about her age exclaimed as Nasuada entered the hall. She and Arya Drottningu had become friends after Eragon had introduced them. They both shared a History class together. Arya tended to be on the more serious side of things however, quite unlike Eragon who was more expressive and emotional. In order to shock the slender girl something drastic had to be done. And indeed it had.

Nasuada stepped into the study hall, sporting a cropped hair style. It was quite a contrast to her once very long hair that had grown lengthily down her back. She felt slightly awkward as she received stares from everyone in the classroom. Her short locks even caught the gaze of the ever nonchelant Murtagh Morzanson. _'Wait wasn't he a grade higher than them? What is he doing here?' _she thought to herself as she stared lightly at him. Nasuada, though she hated to admit it, thought him extremely handsome, but buried her admiration of his looks with her disgust of his superior character.

She rolled her eyes at him, as she walked by. He only stared at her, and she could swear she saw a hint of a smile on his pale lips."Gosh, someone going rebel?" Arya pointed at her slightly spiky hair that hid her ears neatly, as Nasuada sat next to her. "No...ask Eragon..it's his fault after all." Nasuada pointed to the blondehaired boy who had just entered the hall. He looked around the room, seemingly searching for them. Once they were spotted his face bore similar shock to everyone else at Nasuada's 'new hair'. He quickly bounded over to them, flinging down a heavy bag and a few notebooks by the table.

"Goo?" he asked, his expression looked pained. "That obvious, huh?" Eragon laughed at Nasuada's carefreeness. She didn't seemed to be excessively bothered about it. "So, how did your dad react?" Eragon, frowned, "he wasn't too fond at the thought of the 'principals child' displaying such behaviour to the fellow student body. He not only grounded me for a month, Murtagh there has to 'stalk' me during his freetime."

"He means check up... Not stalk." A deep voice corrected behind them. The three of them turned around to see Murtagh standing behind them, arms folded, blue eyes emotionless.

Eragon had things a bit harder than everybody else. People would think he would have gotten off easier than everybody else because he was the principal's son. But with Principal Brom, he made sure to both punish him at school and at home. Murtagh, being only eragon's half brother got off a bit easier than him. Eragon's mouth pursed in annoyance.

"You don't have to be here you know Murtagh.." everybody could tell the he was embarrassed.

Nasuada agreed. "Yeah..you don't have to be here Murtagh." she glared at him lightly, remembering when he had pushed her down in the corridor and even later when he "came to apologise" he only ended up purposely embarrassing her in front of everyone in the corridor. Arya only yawned, she didn't care in the least.

"Hm..I can tell someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." he smirked at her.

Nasuada rolled her eyes at him. "You make my whole day dreary, why don't you just go away."

Murtagh shrugged his shoulders," It may be me...or..it may be the chicken's ass on your head presently." he walked away before she could retort. Eragon smiled humorously when he saw Nasuada's eye was twitching. Arya pulled out a chemistry book and began studying. "You should start reading Eragon, we have a chemistry test after this session."

"What!" Eragon shot up. " I thought we had that tomorrow...I haven't even started studying..!" he squeaked. Nasuada shrugged her shoulders. " I have my first History class right about now, so...good luck with that test." she grunted as she grabbed her books and walked away. As she trudged slowly down the corridor she could tell someone was following her. She spun around to see none other than her new friend's brother.

"What do you want, Morzanson?"

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Please Read and Review! 3

(If any of you have any ideas, or anything that you want to see in this fic, just pm me about it..or leave it in your reviews. I'm not particulary following a strict plot here..im just going with ma muse... So be free to give your input!) It would be greatly appreciated :)

See ya guys later.


	3. Chapter 3: Letters Ruin Lives

Hey look an update! Wonderful isnt it? Well...i should be doing work...so this is bad of me. Anyway felt as though to show you guys some love, so enjoy! And this chapter is a bit longer...

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Chapter Three

Nasuada stared blankly at the paper before her. This had to be some sort of joke. Yes, it had to be a joke, there would be no other reason for this.

_'Stupid Murtagh...why did he stop me in the corridor. Why didn't he just keep the damn thing...'_

As she walked lengthily down the corridor she read the letter again.

_"Dear Nasuada Nightstalker,_

_We regret to inform you that the terms that had been agreed on concerning your scholarship have been dissolved due to matters between the school and the board of Directors. The terms themselves cannot be specified, however we found it necessary to inform you that you will now need to seek proper ways of furnishing your needs as the school can no longer provide for such matters. If any help is needed to do this or if you have any questions about the proceedings, Principal Brom will be sure to assist you. We appreciate your understanding._

_Chairman of The Board,_

_Galbatorix Kings-man"_

Nasuada read the letter over and over. "No...this can't be happening." She felt like the world itself was crashing down on her. Her father had given everything for her to get this scholarship! His company had been ripped from under him by his greedy co-founder Trianna Mage. She had not only turned all his clients against him, signed him out of the company name, but had taken the last shreds of his dignity as well. Trianna had taken over the reigns when she forced Ajihad to resign from Nightstalker Corps. And her father was left in the rubble...forced to build back, with nothing to start with. Nasuada would hate that woman till the day she died;yet her father held no grudge. She found it every strange that Ajihad could forgive anyone, no matter the offense.

_"If we spend all our time holding grudges, dear, we'll be so caught up we will miss the good in life."_

She remembered what he had said to her after he was forced to leave. Nasuada shook her head in anger. No, this could not be forgiven either. The school was supposed to be protecting her! They were supposed to guide and direct her, to nurture her in her path of education. For Gods sakes, how was she supposed to provide for herself, when Her father didn't even have any money!

"Hey Nassy wait up!" Nasuada did not turn around to see Eragon calling from behind. Instead she walked ahead, head bent in reading the note again. Each time she skimmed the insensitive words of the Chairman, she became even angrier. On the fifth time she was seething visibly.

"Hey....whoa..What's up with you?" Eragon stopped abruptly as Nasuada flashed him a nasty glare. With trembling lips and shaking fists she shoved the letter in his face.

"This f**king school! That's what!!" she yelled, not bothering or even caring to notice the onlookers.

Eragon still wide eyed from her outburst, hesitantly took the paper from her and began reading it. Nasuada huffed in frustration and glared at any student who dared look at her.

"You ...were here on a scholarship?" He raised a brown eyebrow at her. People who were on scholarships were usually the smart students who had difficulty in paying the fees. Nasuada only roll her eyes at him.

"Yes...but that isn't the point! They can't do that to me!! My father...He can't afford for this to happen!....Bloody hell.." she paused for a second, lowering her voice. "_Can_ they do that to me?"

Eragon stared at Nasuada for a minute, slightly appalled at the desperation in her voice. From the few days he had known her, he had always thought her to a be a strong person. Now that he saw her with a mist of tears behind her anger, he was frightened. He gently tugged at her arm and led her into a vacant classroom.

When the door clicked reassuringly behind him, he turned to her.

"I'm afraid that they can. The school is being funded by a really sensitive man whose patience is like a thread. Anything displeases him and the biggest funds for the school are gone... I'm only assuming that they canceled the scholarship, because they can't afford it, anymore..."

Nasuada growled at the unwanted response. Head slumped in defeat, she seated herself on an empty table. She sighed heavily.

"I...I don't know what to do Eragon. I have no where to go. My father lives practically half the country away...and this was the only school that could offer me a full scholarship... I ...I.." She was on the verge of tears.

Eragon stared at the letter again. Reading the closing, he hissed. "I should've known...that man Galbatorix is a sly snake. He probably has much to do with it. I would not be surprised if he was the one who convinced the source of funding to cease. My father constantly tries to elude his wiles, but he has immeasurable power within the Board. ...feh, he is as old as time itself...he has been in the Board for more than twenty years. He knows the workings like the back of his hand." Eragon smoothed over his hands for desired effect.

The loud creak of the door, alerted both that someone was there. Still sitting dejectedly, Nasuada barely managed to look up. Eragon stepped in front of her shielding her from whoever had come to disturb them. The person stood blocked from view by both the door and her friend.

"What is it?" Eragon whispered to the stranger, then glanced Nasuada. She still looked lost.

"I came here to.....What's wrong with _her_?"

"Nothing....its none of your business anyway."

"Yea whatever Selena's coming over tonight....again."

" Miss Corvalls? What?" a sigh. "Does dad know?"

"Brom, your father, told me so..."

"Gods, that woman can be so annoying sometimes...Why does he like her?"

"Yes,...yes she can be. Your father says she's coming over for busine-" The deep voice paused. "......gods what _did _you do to her? She looks like a wet puppy!" At this Eragon turned to face Nasuada. He raised an eyebrow.

Nasuada sat alone by the table, barely listening to the conversation. Their words washed over her like light wind, not giving weigh to her attention. She sighed miserably, thinking of her father. She wondered if he knew anything about this. No, she would not tell him about it. It would only upset him beyond measure. She would figure this out. . .She had to.

"Oh shut up..Leave her alone, Murtagh" Eragon hissed.

At this Nasuada's eyes shot up, fully awake. She glanced at the eased figure at the door. And undoubtedly, it was Eragon's brother. Murtagh stood tall; pale arms hung loosely by his side. His raven black hair lay slightly disheveled, like the rest of his clothing. His blue polyester tie was pulled down and his cotton white shirt was out of his pants. It was strange though that despite the chaos of his dress, he still managed to keep a composed demeanor. Nasuada flinched as she caught his gaze. The curiosity of his icy blue eyes unnerved her. She turned away, glancing at the floor.

Murtagh slumped nonchalantly against the door, still eying Nasuada.

"Is this about the letter...?"

Eragon looked shocked. "How did you know about that?"

"I was the one who gave it to her....Well, Brom's secretary gave it to me to give it to her." Murtagh paused. "What did it say?" The question was directed at the girl.

Nasuada made no response. Instead she turned her gaze to a nearby window. It was merely September, yet one could feel the autumn chill, blowing through the window. A group of students were romping on the lawns, soon to be caught by a prefect.

"You should speak to Eragon's father about this...he might be able to help you."

Nasuada smiled melancholy. "And what good with that do, Murtagh." she stood up from the desk and straightened her pleated skirt and tie.

The dark haired youth smiled lightly. "I do not know.." Nasuada turned to face him at his gentle tone. His face was one of deep concern. Her eyes widened in surprise at his behavior. When Murtagh caught her gaze he sported a quick smirk. "But its better than sitting on your bum, and acting like a pathetic ninny all day..." He shrugged and Nasuada rolled her eyes.

'_Just when I think him decent he corrects my expectations.'_

-X-

Nasuada shuffled uneasily in her swim suit. The dark blue swim suit that the school required them to wear was rather annoying. Well, maybe it wasn't the fact that it tugged a little too closely at the hips. Or the fact that the males in the class would constantly 'whoop' at the females, or even dare to smack them on the bum. No, what Nasuada found annoying was the small, yet terrible fact that she could not swim.

Her home had been far in land and Nasuada was more fit for running than wallowing in water like some sort of amphibian. Though she loved water very much, she despised the school's pool. It was...just too big..and too deep.

Nasuada stood by the edge of the pool. Contemplating whether or not to enter. Everyone else was in the pool, well except for a few. Namely a small feisty blond haired girl with blue highlights that had blatantly told the coach she would not enter. She stood by the corners of the pool arms folded across her small chest. Nasuada turned to her.

"So, you plan on going in?"

The girl eyed her with lazy eyes. " Are you?"

Nasuada shrugged, then swallowed harshly. "I ...don't know how to swim.." she murmured, over the roar of the others who were swimming relentlessly in the large pool.

The small girl turned to her with a ' are you kidding me' look. "You aren't serious are you..."

Nasuada only smiled embarrassed and walked away, finding herself at the shallower end of the pool, yet it was still six feet deep. The small girl scurried over to her, her blond/ blue hair flapping wildly about her.

"Sorry." she blurted. Nasuada turned to her. "So your new here?"

Nasuada didn't smile. "Yes."

The girl grinned. "So am I. The names Saphira." she stretched out her hand and patted her on the shoulder.

Nasuada smiled "I'm Nasuada."

"So ..do you want to learn?"

"Huh..."

"how to swim...do you?"

Nasuada nodded. And Saphira stroked her slender chin in mock contemplation. "I'll teach you..then."

Nasuada scoffed lightly. "Isn't that what _he_'_s _supposed to be doing? And if you know how to swim why aren't you?" She pointed at the coach who was too busy by the benches chatting away to a woman with the reddest hair she had ever seen.

Saphira barked in laughter. "Oh Coach? He talks to his girlfriend in every class. You'll learn nothing from him at this rate....And I'm not swimming, because the water is cold. Plain and simple." Nasuada could only shake her head.

The two sat by the edge of the pool staring at the swimmers. Some were swimming the laps allotted to them by the Coach, while others wasted the class with their own fun, diving and frolicking in the water.

"Whoa...check out Mr. Sexy by the benches..!" Saphira nudged Nasuada in delight. And Nasuada looked up in curiosity to who she might have been talking about. The only persons there were the coach and his red headed girlfriend and Eragon who was looking around the pool hastily.

Nasuada chuckled. "Who Eragon..?"

Saphira smirked. "What you don't think he's sexy...? Look at those biceps...Look at the hair.."

Hoisting herself up Nasuada shook her head lightly. "Yeah, he's good looking, but he's just not my type. Plus...He's my friend. And I think he has a thing for Arya, the Syrian girl."

Saphira scoffed and remained seated, flashing her legs through the cool water. "feh ...Arya.."

It was evident that Eragon saw Nasuada when she arose from her seat. Moments later he was rushing over to her, his short blond hair looked ruffled and spiky.

"Hey!" he grabbed Nasuada's arm. "I've been looking all over for you!"

Nasuada peered at him. "Why? Wait ...aren't you supposed to be at class now?" She stared at him. "Don't tell me you're sculling...Your father would kill you..!"

Eragon shook his head panting lightly. "That's what I'm here about. My Father wants to speak to you.."

Nasuada froze. "...."

"Right now!."

-X-

Being in the Principal's office was nothing like she had expected. Nasuada had thought it would be dark and damp like a dingy prison cell, laden with brick and drudgery. But the bright peach room with ornate curtains and wide windows, was what had greeted her. Perhaps this removed some of her fear; even if it was just a little.

Principal Brom was a tall man With shaggy brown hair, which was graying at the corners of his ears. He rarely smiled, yet his face was always radiating gentleness and patience. However, acknowledging that, one could not help but also notice that he was a very strict man, with little tolerance for indiscipline.

Sitting in the chair before his table, she tried to recount if she had done anything wrong, the past days.

Principal Brom rested both palms on the table, then looked at Nasuada for a while; supposedly summing her up.

"I assume you have received the letter concerning the scholarship."

Nasuada cringed inwardly, her voice hitched. "Yes, I'm afraid so. Why is this being done to me? Why have I been removed from the program? Has it not been provided that I fit the criteria that is required of me by it.?" She leaned forward in chair, determined for an answer.

Brom eased back into his own chair sighing lightly. "I'm afraid you do not fully understand my dear. The school has gone under some serious funding problems. That provided there had to be major changes. " He paused. "The program has not kicked you out."

"No?" Nasuada raised an eyebrow.

"The program has been canceled, wholly." his tone was firm

Shock reverberated across Nasuada's face. It sent a chill down her spine. "Canceled!?" she breathed in disbelief.

"B...But what am I supposed to do!?" She growled, her voice rising. The Principal eyed her cautiously, his stern gaze telling her to lower her voice.

"Your father does he not provide for you?"

"My Father is broken..." Nasuada shook her head as tears began stinging at her eyes again. 'He is poor! We are ....we have...no money." She wiped away the tears roughly from her eyes. She then glared at the man.

"You were supposed to help us! This school was supposed to help me! You claimed the scholarship program was to help those in need who could maintain high standards.!" she growled. "Well I ...I am in need now! ' she yelled.

Defeated, she slumped back into her chair. "I wasn't always in need. My father lost...everything."

"And your mother?" his voice was empty.

"Dead. She died of cancer when I was twelve."

This sent the principal silent for a moment. After a while, he rose from his seat and paced around the room.

"I really called you here to make you a proposition." He stopped pacing to face her.

Nasuada sat up politely.

"What I want in return is simple: Respect, obedience, and your term average to be a straight A with no failures during the year, just like the condition that the scholarship would require of you."

Nasuada looked up at him with curious umber eyes. "What are you saying Principal Brom...?"

It was the first time Nasuada had seen him smile. And it was unforced and filled with pity.

"I'm saying that I will provide you with a place to stay, food to eat, and general guidance."

Nasuada smiled halfheartedly not wanting to cleave hope and then be disappointed. " Forgive my asking ..but ..How do you plan to achieve this?"

_The Principal smiled even wider. "Eragon says you are good friends. Well, I'm sure he won't mind if you live with us then?"_

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See, feel proud of me I have updated. I wrote this whole chapter in a night...I am so proud of myself...normally I plan my chapters before.

Heh. I introduced Saphira...yes shes kinda OC but shes a kid for crying out loud and a human one at that!

Teeheee!...Things should be interesting from here on..! Living with Eragon, Brom and not to mention Murtagh..my lords..will Nasuada survive?!

Anyway you guys you know the Drill! Read and Review! ...please.


	4. Chapter 4: New Home

No I'm not on an updating streak or anything. I just wrote this today and decided to post it. After ..'trying' to study for the whole day..this popped into my head and here it is people! Enjoy!

In this chapter Nasuada finally goes to Eragon's house. But when she gets there she is rather surprised.

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Chapter Four

New Home

"This all your stuff?" Eragon motioned to the small bags that Nasuada had been pulling towards the car. The dark skinned girl nodded curtly and nervously jumped into the back seat after throwing her luggage into the trunk. She gazed through the window scanning the large school grounds with a lazy eye.

Things had been rather strange for her when Principal Brom had offered to house her. Normally her pride would have not permitted her to accept such a noble gesture. But pride had been far removed now, for all she cared about was a place to stay, and food to eat; just some sense of security, even if it was with strangers. Nasuada tapped her slender fingers against the glass, and watched as the window began to fog when her breath caught it. Childishly she drew a smiley face into the fading mist. Beside her Eragon smiled.

"Having fun..?" he tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

Nasuada grinned "As much as I can." She rested a palm on his shoulder. "Thanks again Eragon."

The blond boy smirked. "It wasn't all my idea you know…" And then he eyed the front seat, as Murtagh entered the car. The elder brother never turned around to say hello to her…or even Eragon for that matter; For they were the only ones in the car. Nasuada settled herself even further towards the window, intent on staying as far away from them as possible; after all she did not want to get emotionally attached to them and then have it all blow up in her face. It was one thing that the horrible incident concerning her father had taught her, it was to trust no one….and suspect everyone.

Eragon looked out the opposite window again and sighed in annoyance. Nasuada turned to him, ignoring her own view.

"What's wrong?"

"Dad's talking to _her_ again." He rolled his brown eyes and mock stuck his finger down his throat. Nasuada smirked, laughing lightly. Sure enough Principal Brom seemed to be engulfed in deep conversation with a slender dark haired woman with piercing blue eyes. Nasuada frowned recognizing her as the book obsessive block coordinator.

"Ooooh…Eragon's dad has a girl friend…" She mocked and then punched her friend playfully on the arm.

Eragon frowned , then began laughing and slapped her in return. A playful scuffle erupted in the back as the two romped and squealed in delight. The large blue pajero shook slightly as Eragon was pushed against the car door by Nasuada's foot. Soon a loud groan was heard and a sharp squeal. Nasuada began laughing uncontrollably as Eragon tickled her. Tears leaked from her eyes as she shrieked for mercy.

In the front passenger's seat, Murtagh grumbled lowly to himself, clearly agitated by both delay and the noise in the back.

"Gods would you shut up!?" He growled, turning his head to face the two. His eyes widened slightly at their current position.

Nasuada was being pinned down by Eragon as he partially sat on her bum. The side of her face was pressed roughly into the fabric of the car seat. And she was still screaming between laughs as Eragon continued to tickle her. At Murtagh's staring, tickling ceased and both turned their heads to face the one who shouted.

Eragon raised an eyebrow. "What's up with you emo boy?"

Murtagh's eyes narrowed at the comment. He stared icily at the both of them. "You're my problem..**She's** my problem." He gripped the edge of the seat. His face was icily calm.

"Why did you and your father insist on taking a complete incompetent stranger to our home. We're aren't the Sisters of Mercy you know! And this isn't a charity house. She'll proceed to be even a more pain in the ass than you. And trust me…your enough for me." his tone was neither raised nor lowered, he insulted them as easily as if he were just breathing.

Eragon eased off Nasuada silently and the girl straightened herself in her seat for a minute. Eragon could only scowl at Murtagh, who held a straight face in return. The look in his eyes was challenging, daring Eragon to object to what he had said. Nasuada leaned back further towards the corner. She sighed heavily then without word, she clicked open the door and left. Surprised, Eragon hurried after her.

"Nasuada? What are you doing?" He rushed to meet her by the back of the vehicle.

"Eragon could you tell that ass of a brother that you have, if he would at least have the decency to open the trunk.." strangely her voice was calm; yet Nasuada hung her head as she bent over the back of the car. Agitatedly she knocked the trunk of the car, and belatedly a small click was heard. Murtagh had opened it without need to ask.

"Wow…he really just wants me gone.." She shook her head laughing bitterly. She swung the trunk open.

"Nasuada please don't do this." Eragon tried to grab her luggage from her. Nasuada slapped his hand away, struggling to grab her things from him.

"Let go Eragon! I'll find somewhere to go…I'll survive..I know I can." She squirmed. She yanked her bags from him, but Eragon had grabbed her arm in turn.

"And where will you go!?" His eyes bore into her. "Don't throw away the offer, not because of Murtagh…even though he's my brother, he's an idiot…". Nasuada eyed him cautiously. Eragon added quickly "And obviously has no manners."

A small smirk tugged at the girl's lips and Eragon grinned inwardly, seeing the desired effect his words had. But then Nasuada's face sunk .

"I don't want to be some charity case, Eragon. I have my pride." She sighed heavily, resting her luggage on the ground. Eragon eyed her warily.

"Nasuada you and I both know that we don't consider you like that.."

"What about..Mu-"

"Murtagh doesn't think of you that way either. He….he just has issues, mainly with his father and such…" he leaned closer to her as if afraid any one would hear him.

"When we discussed it he never objected to anything…" he whispered, and Nasuada froze in shock and disbelief.

At Nasuada's expression Eragon chuckled lightly and placed the luggage back into the trunk, and slammed it shut. A familiar voice called behind them.

"Everybody ready?" Principal Brom stood behind them with tanned arms crossed. Like Eragon he was always neatly and sharply dressed. His pinstripe tie was straightened to perfection and his brown hair was brushed neatly to the side. Nasuada turned to see Miss. Selena Corvalls walking briskly away from them with a faint smile on her face that only a love could conjure. Nasuada smiled lightly in return, wondering what it felt like to be loved by someone other than her father.

"Yeah dad, everything's good." Eragon murmured then pushed Nasuada along towards the door. Brom only nodded opening the driver's door and slipping inside. He fumbled viciously with the car keys. The shuffling made an irritating jingle. Nasuada looked towards the front passenger's seat. Murtagh sat as still as a statue, from the back angle Nasuada could not see the look on his face. She could only suspect it was an incredulous scowl.

"So," Brom turned towards the back seat as he started the car. "Are you ready Nasuada?"

Nasuada grinned uncertainly, "I sure hope so..."

-X-

Murtagh's mood had not changed much as they traveled to Eragon's house. But Nasuada had taken up new fascination in listening to the silence of the three men as they had traveled throughout their journey. She found it incredulous that these people who were supposed to be one big happy family hardly said a word to each other. When she and her father were together they would chat for hours on end. She had at least expected short conversation with Eragon during their journey, but not even the least of polite conversation was made. Eragon had insisted on staring through the window, engulfed in the green scenery that passed by.

Nasuada knew not where she was going, but her anxiety was quelled by the lovely pastures and the tranquil nature as the car sped along the smooth roads. Growing up in New York hadn't been what she had always wanted. They weren't many trees or pastures; everything was always a large concrete building or a sidewalk. Nasuada smiled in relief at the change of scenery, but yet there was also a hidden feeling of sadness. She partially missed her life back in New York. Things had been stable there, unlike here in the country where everything was so different. Where she could no longer be independent for she was always secured by her Father's high position; Now she was depending on the goodness of others, and it scared her. Nasuada knew well that people could be really fickle and that Eragon and his family could throw her out on her bum for the silliest of reasons. As she thought about this, the lush green and tranquility of the lanes did not seem so dreamlike..it just reminded her that she was a stranger here; A stranger without any family. She felt even more alone. The dark green trees and quiet trails just slipped by like liquid as Nasuada rested her head against the window, falling into a welcomed sleep.

_She was in New York again, but there were no sidewalks, there were no crude buildings anywhere. She was in a quiet green land, much like the one she had seen while staring through the window. But this place was silent…deadly silent. Nasuada stepped over the cracked stones reverently as she looked for the familiar marking white stone. Her bright yellow dress dragged softly against the deep green grass and it was then she realized, she was twelve years old again. Familiar white orchids were clutched firmly in her slender hands, and behind her the scrunching of larger feet could be heard_. _Her umber eyes darkened as she beheld the headstone standing tall in short distance, she turned to face her father, and he nodded to her reassuring her silently that everything was going to be o.k._

_"Daddy, you won't ever leave me will you? Please don't leave me like mommy left us…" tears slipped down her dark cheeks as an all too familiar pain racked through her small chest._

_Her father stood tall above her, hugging her tightly in his arms. "Mommy didn't want to leave us honey…" His deep voice was filled with sadness adding to the somber tone in the graveyard. He pulled her from him and stared down at her with calm eyes. "And I promise…I will never leave you…" _

_The pain only lessened slightly, and as Nasuada turned to face the gravestone of her mother, the gripping pain of emotion swallowed her, and soon she was lying in the dark green grass crying, while the ache in her heart swelled never to be quenched…_

"Nasuada?....Uhm…Nasuada.." A soft voice called to her and she could feel herself being shaken by warm hands. Slowly she opened her eyes, but shut them immediately as the blinding light from the car's roof shone brightly over her head. The car had come to a slow drive. It was dark outside, and Nasuada could not see anything. Slightly disoriented it took her some time to remember where she was. A shaggy haired boy was bent over her. His brown eyes staring intently at her as her eyes fluttered weakly.

"Where am I..?" she groaned and her voice cracked from disuse. Eragon smiled brightly and helped pull her up into a proper sitting position. Nasuada could tell her hair was disheveled and probably looked almost like an afro. Eragon smiled goofily as he stared at her.

"We're almost at the house…I thought I should wake you up." Eragon suggested. After a quick look to his right he chortled.

"I didn't know you snore."

Nasuada grimaced. " I do not…!" she retorted and huffed to herself, knowing he was right.

A deep voice echoed from the front. "Yes, you do..and rather _loudly_ as well.."

Nasuada's face crumpled as she heard Murtagh. She was about to make a rude comment but refrained, remembering that she was in Principal Brom's company and the fact that Murtagh had not sounded insulting or rude in anyway would not help the situation. She decided that confrontation was not the best answer. She only 'humphed' in reply. At this Murtagh chuckled a bit and then turned to face her. His blue eyes scanned her up and down with a critical eye. Nasuada glared at him as he smirked at her disheveled figure. His smirk only grew wider.

"Following in my footsteps I see…" He mocked, while gazing intently at her. Nasuada raised a curious eyebrow, but didn't bother to ask, when she realized what he had meant. She looked down at herself, her uniform was extremely messy. Her white cotton blouse was very crumpled and the top of her blouse was unbuttoned, her navy blue, pleated skirt was twisted.

" Aren't I a good student?" she asked, her tone actually sounding sincere. Murtagh's smile twitched slightly at his lips, and his deep eyes bore into her. He did not reply to her sarcastic comment, but instead turned his gaze to Eragon.

"You should tell your girlfriend to get her act together. No one likes a messy girl.." He then turned around with satisfaction at the look of horror on Eragon's face and Nasuada who held the perfect look of annoyance. Before any of them could say anything, Brom's voice broke the silence.

"Welcome to our humble abode Nasuada.."

Nasuada stared outside her window at the hugest gates she had ever seen in her life. In the darkness, large gates which were deep blue looked black with golden M in the front and matching colored emblems on the sides. Suddenly a loud buzzing sound was made and the gates slid effortlessly before them. Nasuada's eyes widened recognizing the plague of the security company mounted on the gates. When the gates were fully opened, the car continued inwards.

Nasuada stared wide eyed, her face literally pressed against the window. She hastily wound her window down, afraid that the tint was making her imagine things. But as she beheld them with her own two eyes she knew she had not been mistaken.

_'There bloody rich…!'_ she yelled inwardly.

The property...was massive with the most immaculate lawns Nasuada had ever seen. Her father's experience in business had made her a bit more experienced the finer things in life...but my my..not _this_ fine. Through the darkness Nasuada recognized the few flowering plants that were in bloom; Lavender and white roses, white daises and yellow hydrangeas. Nasuada leaned back in her seat, in shock and excitement. She knew the Brom's had money…but not that much. She gasped as she spied a small pond by the side. The deep water was faintly illuminated by the gentle moonlight.

Finally after a few minutes the car came to a stop. At some point Nasuada wondered if the dreamlike landscape would ever end, but it had, and an even more dreamlike building stood in front of them…The Bromsson's house.

-X-

" You forgot to mention that you were rotten rich Eragon." Nasuada chortled as she slumped unto the silky spreads of her new bed. After climbing the myriads of stairs of the Manor laboring with her luggage, Nasuada had finally been given a room. And there were no complaints on her side. The wide bay windows were opened to the autumn chill, and a delicate balcony stood below it, with an even more delicate garden nestled below. The pond Nasuada had spied rippled elegantly below in the garden.

Eragon climbed unto the large bed beside her throwing a tennis ball at the ceiling. "This isn't our house exactly." He murmured while catching the ball.

Nasuada turned to him. "Oh?"

Eragon continued to throw the ball. "It's actually Murtagh's." Nasuada nearly choked.

"What?!" She stuttered. "Ho…How can he own a house!" she whispered not knowing if Murtagh was nearby and if he could hear them. The ball throwing ceased and Eragon sat up on the bed, he plucked his shoes from his feet.

"Murtagh's dad was rotten rich and he left it to him. But Murtagh isn't old enough to own a home, the court then gave the house to my dad because he is Murtagh's guardian."

Nasuada went silent trying to process everything. "Murtagh's dad is dead?"

Eragon eyed Nasuada for a minute then lay down beside her again. "No…"

Her face crinkled with misunderstanding. "Then…why does he live with you guys? And why did his dad leave the house to him?"

Eragon coughed a bit, and then lowered his voice. "Its not really my place to tell you this..but..uhm..Murtagh was abused when he was a child. Morzan, Murtagh's father used to beat him silly, and when his dad found out his wife, my mother was having a relationship with my dad, he…did…something..horrible to him…"

Nasuada wanted to ask what is was, but left it at that, knowing that Eragon would not tell her out of respect for his brother. He continued. "After that…Morzan was arrested, and the court decided to give Murtagh to us, because we were the only thing closest to family…Murtagh's been living with us for years now.." He turned away from her as if remembering something.

"…So ..erh..What about your mom..?" Nasuada nudged Eragon on the shoulder. He sighed and turned to her.

"She died a few years ago.."

Nasuada smiled sadly. "We've got something in common then."

" Am I interrupting something…?" a deep voice jabbed at them from the doorway. Both Nasuada and Eragon sat up in fright as Brom stood by the door, his arms folded. Nasuada eased slightly, realizing that he was smiling.

"No Principal Brom, Eragon and I were just chatting about the house.." She murmured sheepishly.

Brom only laughed. "At home you may call me Brom if you wish. It seems weird to me hearing the title 'Principal' when I'm not at school." He stepped into the cream colored room, clutching to a large bundle of towels.

"Do you like your new room?" he asked, opening the door to the adjoining bathroom and resting the towels inside. Nasuada stood by the bathroom door, her eyes dancing in excitement.

"Oh, I absolutely love it…Thank you so much again. I …can never repay you."

Brom chuckled as he stood by the bathroom door facing her. "And you won't ever need to.." At this Eragon stood up smiling and shuffled over to the two.

"I guess I should be heading to the shower now. It's seven o'clock, and I need to study…" He waved goodbye to his father and Nasuada and soon strode out the oak door.

Brom turned to Nasuada again. "Just put extra towels, if you needed any.. Your gonna take a bath now I assume.." Nasuada nodded. "If you need anything..I'll be downstairs." He headed towards the door.

"And Nasuada?" he turned to her again.

"Yes?"

"Try not to get lost…"

-X-

Nasuada gratefully tore her uniform from her body, and stepped into the perfectly sculpted shower. She closed the glass panel doors and silently prayed to god that no one would dare venture into the bathroom while she was bathing. They would see everything.

After a while of frustration of turning the myriads of buttons on the shower panel, she finally found the hot water tab. The warm water gently rushed down her body and she closed her eyes enjoying the small luxury. 'Whoever Murtagh's father is…was really rich.." She murmured to herself as she looked around her. The bath tube was made out of some sort of expensive stone, and the tiles were expertly crafted. The creamy peach color of the room and the bathroom was probably why Brom had given her the room. For Eragon's room was bright blue, and rather masculine. And the rest of the uninhabited rooms looked a little bland, or too bright for Nasuada's taste. This room was perfect with gentle accents of homeliness and an elegance that Nasuada found very tasteful. She fell in love with it at first sight.

After showering thoroughly and washing her cropped hair, Nasuada literally had to force herself to turn off the water and step out of the bath. She knew that no one would appreciate her wasting anything in the house. And she certainly did not want to anger Brom.

As Nasuada dried her short her in the towel she hummed a tune that she had learned from her father. She grabbed another red towel from the metal rack and slung it over her body, half covering herself. The towel was barely draped over her shoulders and hung loosely around her. At the chorus of the tune Nasuada burst into song and swung open the bathroom door. She stepped into the room on tip toes as the coldness of the tiles chilled her.

"He gave you my mother's room I see…" A deep familiar voice echoed from behind. And surprised Nasuada flashed around to face her unannounced guest. She was sure she had locked the door. In her sudden movement the towel fell limp in her grasp. And in an all horrifying moment, the soft material slithered to the ground leaving her bare.

_Nasuada froze in shock, horror and utter embarrassment. She was standing completely naked in front of Murtagh._

_

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_Heheh!! Aren't I evil to Nassy....teehee! poor girl. (lucky Murtagh! lol)

I hope you like how I'm keeping parts of the Inheritance Cycle in the book without making it exactly like the books and adding my own twists.

Well, you guys know the drill Read and Review..cause I want to know your opinion on my writing...If you've got any sugggestions don't be afraid to tell me!

Shadowed Breath


	5. Chapter 5:Kind Words

Hey guys its another update! Feel proud of me...! Well, for those looking out for my Thirsty Hibiscus Update...Im sorry but your gonna have to wait a bit longer. I have end of year exams coming up and grading in june...so Im gonna be a bit busy. Part of this chapter was already pre written thats why Im posting it. So I hope you enjoy. Don't forget to read and review!!!!

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Chapter Five

Kind Words

One could not describe the shock, the horror and utter embarrassment that Nasuada felt in those few precious seconds. For what seemed like an eternity to her, she stood frozen, eyes widened, mouth dropped in disbelief. She tried to speak, but no words would come. For a short moment Murtagh's eyes wandered hungrily over her body, but at the expression of Nasuada's horror he retracted. While muttering something of an apology, Murtagh turned around to face the door. He scratched his head nervously.

"Erh…sorry..I scared you.." He murmured. He cleared his throat testily for a moment.

Realizing finally that he was not staring at her anymore; she quickly yanked the towel from the ground and viciously wrapped it around her body like a cocoon. The shock and embarrassment had rendered her silent but after slight recovery both her voice and her anger were coming back.

"What the Hell are you doing in here!! God damn it haven't you heard about Knocking!!" she yelled not caring if Brom was to hear her.

Murtagh visibly winced, but when he turned to face her his expression was stony. Nasuada noted that he had exchanged his messy uniform of white long sleeved cotton shirt and deep blue tie and pants with a plane black t-shirt with the words 'Three Days Grace' printed across boldly his chest. His denim pants were deep blue and ripped at the sides. His messy black hair matched his outfit to perfection.

"Your door was open. I simply stepped inside." He suggested cooly. His arms were folded and he bore his infamous smirk. Nasuada clutched closer to her towel, realizing that his eyes were wandering over her again. She eyed him suspiciously.

"Don't flatter yourself, you're not my type." He yawned, noticing her expression. He then slumped lazily unto her bed. Nasuada could have never been more insulted.

"And what exactly is **your** type…Murtagh." She spat his name with disdain. Without getting up from her bed, Murtagh murmured his answer through the bed spreads.

"Smaller…" he murmured. He sat up ruffling his hair and raised an eyebrow as he stared at her again. "You're a bit too…."

Nasuada's nails dug deeper into the soft fabric of the towel. She awaited Murtagh's painful insult, but his attention had slipped completely to something else.

"This your family?" His cold blue eyes wandered curiously over a small wooden frame set reverently on the bedside table. He picked it up in his right hand. Nasuada's hatred slipped like water from stone as she recognized the picture.

"Yes." She murmured. Her voice was barely audible.

"You look like a scarecrow…!" he barked in laughter as he pointed to a picture of a seven year old version of Nasuada with a mass of curly hair and large brown eyes, cradled in the arms of both mother and father. Had it been any other occasion and Nasuada would have taken deep offense to his comment, and would have properly put him in his place; But the words seemed to wash over her as she remembered the day vividly.

Her mother and father had been fighting that day. Over what seemed to her then as complete foolishness. But looking back, perhaps it was better for her not to have understood. Nasuada realized then that they were planning to leave one another.

Murtagh's expression changed as he noted her silence, then he quirked. "What cat got your tongue?"

Nasuada looked at him blankly, then without warning her dark fingers pried the photo from his cold pale ones. Murtagh flinched at the touch.

Nasuada stared at the image with misty eyes and traced her fingers along the face of her mother.

"She is pretty is she not..?" Her tone was soft and gentle like silent waves rolling to and fro' on the shores. Murtagh raised her eyes at her tone. He glanced at the picture lightly.

"Hmph…She is. ..**o.k.** I guess." He said nonchalantly resting himself back unto the soft bed. Nasuada glared at him. She opened her mouth with venom, but shut it back deciding that he did not deserve a response. Murtagh smirked at this, eying her with rabid satisfaction.

Hesitantly she put the picture back to its rightful place. She stared at it longingly with a half smile.

"I can only assume based on your animal like looks that your mother was a goat and your father a pig." Her tone was gentle and a matter of fact; and she turned to face Murtagh with the smile still curling at her lips.

Murtagh smirked with disdain and stood grasping the bed post with an iron hand. "And by the looks of you, your mother was obviously a fat tote who screwed a horse and your father was fool enough to receive you as his own."

Nasuada laughed bitterly "So I'm a creepy half breed with a fool for a father and a fat tote for a dead mother?" She closed the space between herself and Murtagh glaring deadly into his eyes. Her clenched fists rested readily at her sides. Murtagh flinched at her words.

"De..dead?" his eyes softened significantly. Nasuada's face tightened.

"Cancer…she died when I was twelve." Her voice was hollow and murmured. Murtagh stared at her emotion hidden behind his blank gaze.

"I didn't know…" he said finally.

Nasuada murmured coldly. "There are many things you do not know about me."

Murtagh turned to her and mumbled quietly, " I know."

Nasuada cleared her throat and gathered her thinning composure.

"What are you doing here anyway?" she asked her regaining her stern annoyed tone. Murtagh eyes shifted intensely across the room.

"I was searching for Za'aroc.."

"Who?"

"My father's blood thirsty dog…You haven't seen him have you…?" his tone was mocking and sarcastic all together. Nasuada's eyes darkened.

"If I see your twin I'll be sure to tell you." She growled turning her back to him and grabbing her clothing from the bed. Murtagh smirked playfully for a second. He hesitated as if he was going to continue conversation. But after seconds he turned to leave. As he stood by the door he turned to Nasuada once more.

There are many things I do not know about you. But there are many things you do not know about me, Nasuada."

The girl scoffed inwardly, but her gaze was iron. Without a word she opened the door of the bathroom and stepped inside, then closed it. Murtagh lingered for a second then walked off deciding to look for his rottweiler in the den.

-X-

Brom paced the living room in frustration. Eragon stood beside him, his arms folded and his face looked frightened.

"How could he have gotten away?"

"I don't know.." Eragon shrugged his shoulders. He wiped his sweaty brow with an aching hand. "Murtagh's gone looking for him, he said he was going to check in the guest rooms…"

Brom stiffened. "I certainly hope that he's not in Nasuada's room…You know how vicious he is to strangers…"

Eragon swallowed harshly. "I know."

Brom grabbed a thick leash and a muzzle and handed them to Eragon. "Find him…and make sure doesn't tear anyone apart."

Taking the leash and muzzle in hand, Eragon quickly bounded up the stairs, hoping that he was not too late.

-X-

Struggling to buckle her pants, Nasuada noted woefully that she had gained a few pounds since her arrival at her new school. She growled in frustration as the buckle once again slipped from her grasp at the last moment. Defeated she slumped unto the covered toilet seat and rested her palm to face. "Dam...Food!..." she groaned, then sighed significantly, remembering what Murtagh had said to her.

Standing up and turning her partially clothed figure in the mirror, she eyed herself critically. Sure she was ...a ...little bit ..."Oh Screw him!" she grumbled exasperatedly. When the hell did she suddenly started caring about Murtagh's opinion. And it was left at that.

With unbuckled Bermuda shorts, a slinky white tank and gladiator sandals, Nasuada stepped confidently from the bathroom door and into the bedroom. But yet another surprise...This one more terrifying than the first.

_There standing boldly on the carpet before her bed, was the largest rottweiler she had ever seen, Growling viciously and foaming wildly at the mouth._

-X-

The piercing scream echoing through the house was all that was needed. Without delay Murtagh jumped up from his seat in the den and sprang panicking up the flights of stairs.

"Shit...Shit!!" he muttered to himself breathing harshly as he rounded another steep corner, several other flights of stairs awaited him. He ran up them without tire. He would not dare think about what his dog was doing to the poor girl. He grimaced as he remembered the last encounter a stranger had with the bloodthirsty dog. The man, a too forward salesman, who had ignored the "Bad Dog" sign at the gate was torn beyond recognition. He would have died too if Brom had not called the ambulance. The man spent two months in recovery on their bill and luckily did not press charges.

Murtagh raced up the last few flights of stairs spying Eragon and Brom rushing up the ones behind him. With lungs nearly collapsing from strain, he barged in through Nasuada's new room yelling exasperatedly. "No...Stop Bad Dog!...Bad...Dog?" Murtagh's eyes creased in confusion.

Nasuada shrieked again in laughter as the dog pinned her down on the rug nuzzling her with large paws. He licked her face with a huge tongue causing her to squeal again in both delight and slight disgust. Her face and hands were covered in dog saliva. As she struggled to get up again the dog pushed her down with one great paw, and stood triumphantly with paw resting heavily on her stomach. Nasuada groaned smiling.

"Alright...alright you win..now quit..."She murmured but the dog would not relent. As she attempted to get up he began growling viciously at her. At this Murtagh snapped out of his frozen state of amazement, and shouted to the dog in a language that she did not understand. Almost immediately the dog took his paws from Nasuada and sat quietly beside her, looking at his master with bright red eyes.

Nasuada stared amazed at the two.

"Dear God...! Nooo.....?" Eragon's voice echoed in confusion as he burst through the door with his father. Both men were panting wildly.

"Erh...did we miss something?" Eragon querried as he stared at Nasuada up and down. " I see no mangled body, nor torn limbs. " He stared inamazement at the dog he sat growling lowly to himself as he met eyes with Eragon. The blond boy quickly retracted at this and turned to meet his father's gaze. Brom looked as equally puzzled as both men.

"He...likes you?" his deep voice floated over the room.

Nasuada who was stumbling to her feet blushed significantly. "Erh...I ...guess so.."

"Well, this is a first." Murtagh mumbled while folding his arms in curiosity. Nasuada glanced at him lightly.

Eragon sighed in relief. "Well, were just glad that your ok..Wait..how exactly did the dog get into your room...?" he asked looking around curiously. "Wasn't the door locked?"

Nasuada fiddled with her tank top and glanced up at eragon with umber eyes. "Murtagh must have left it open when he came in..."

Brom's eyes narrowed and Eragon's hands twitched. Murtagh cringed visibly as both men turned to face him. They stared at him accusingly.

Nasuada smirked. "Yeah...he jumped me when I was coming out of the shower..." She folded her arms and smirked with satisfaction as she saw the pained look on his face. He glanced up at her and glared deeply.

Brom cleared his throat gathering all of his Principal authority that he had discarded upon entering the house. "Is this true Murtagh?" His voice was commanding and boomed across the whole room. Murtagh couldn't help but squirm. With a sheepish look he mumbled a 'Yes' and Both Eragon and Brom frowned even more deeply.

Nasuada broke the awful tension, as Za'aroc let out a playful yelp, but for the large dog he was it sounded like a warning. "It was pretty nice of him though, to welcome me to the house." She smiled sweetly at all of them.

Eragon and Brom looked at her curiously, and Murtagh dared to look at her.

"Oh...So he came in good faith.." Brom's tone changed and he smiled lightly.  
"Why of course, Princi...I mean Brom." Nasuada sported another fake smile and patted Murtagh stiffly on the shoulder. "Murtagh just came here to tell me goodnight and welcome. No need to get riled up." she soothed. She then turned her gaze to the large dog sitting calmly by his master.

" Za'aroc here was pretty nice as well."

Eragon scowled. "Lucky you that dog has hated me from childhood..."

Brom chuckled. " I'm really surprised though.. normally he is vicious towards strangers...Guess your just lucky. " He paused then waved. "Well, Good night dear..its past Ten and I need my rest. I will see you in the morning. Meet us in the living room at the front of the Manor at 7' o clock sharp." He said while walking out the door. Nasuada yelled goodnight after him and turned her attention to Eragon and his brother who now stood uncomfortably by her door.

She nodded at them. "Well, I guess I'll see you guys tomorrow then. Good night Eragon." She walked up and hugged him friendly. He pushed her arm playfully and laughing she did the same. Ruffling her hair, he mumbled a quick goodnight and bounded out the door.

Murtagh was the only one left in the room, just like the beginning. He stared at her out of his peripheral view as Nasuada turned her back to him glancing at the same picture frame once more.

Stepping towards her Murtagh murmured. "You didn't have to do that you know..."

Not turning around Nasuada retorted. " I know...yet I did."

Rolling his blue eyes Murtagh growled. "Thanks.."

"I realize you don't say that often so I'll cherish it." Her tone was laced with sarcasm. And she rubbed her thumbs reverently over the face of her mother. Picking the picture up in both hands she kissed it lovingly. Murtagh continued to step towards her, his lips curved into a smile. His cold blue eyes held warmth, but his arms were still folded coyly at his chest. "You know Za'aroc doesn't like many people..."

As Nasuada turned around, she found herself inches away from him. His icy stare unnerved her, she felt naked again under his gaze. Swallowing harshly she whispered. "So I've heard...."

Murtagh smirked, his eyes wandering over her body again. "I can't say I prefer this to the last outfit though..."

Nasuada's eyes narrowed, but strangely she could feel herself blushing. She turned her back to him again, trying to get a hold of herself. She stared at the bedside table, trying to ignore him. But she could feel the heat radiating from his body. And the lovely fragrance of musk emanating from him intoxicated her. Her slender fingers gripped tighter around the frame.

"Goodnight ...Murtagh." was all she could manage. Her voice was low and almost cracked. Nasuada nearly yelped as she felt his breath against her neck. His lips were right by her ear. For a split second she savored the feeling of his hot breath against her.

"Your mother is indeed lovely..." he whispered huskily. And Nasuada surprised, turned to face him; But Murtagh was already walking out the door, back perfectly straight. Behind him Za'aroc walked loyally.

_And Nasuada was left alone with her room, picture still in hand, wondering to herself, what had just happened._


	6. Chapter 6: Roses Brings Thorns

Well, I'm happy to say this chapter is long for purpose. I did many things here people, please note. I also hope that you enjoy this chapter expecially. I introduced Thorn for those of you who said that I needed to. Those Mur/Nas fans shall enjoy the latter part, and I introduced more Saphira in the scene when they arrive at school. Hope all of you enjoy and don't forget to Read and Review.

Any ideas? Please share them with me for the latter episodes to come.

* * *

Chapter Six

Roses Bring Thorns

"Stupid school." Nasuada muttered sleepily as she was forced to drag herself out of her warm bed. As she flung the covers to the other side a cold air swept over her causing her to shiver. Her teeth chattered as she cursed inwardly. The room lay in half shadows partially grayed by the gentle light that shone through the thick curtains. Feet dangling loosely from the bedside, Nasuada rubbed her eyes sleepily, yawning again. With aching feet, she managed to stumble across the carpets and into the bathroom, but made certain this time that her door was latched shut in case anyone wanted to pay her a _surprise_ visit again. She blushed lightly as she remembered her encounter with the dark haired boy...

-x-

A golden light shone gently throughout the glass windows, illuminating the large kitchen. Murtagh sat by the counter yawning sleepily to himself as another pancake was put before him. Eyes half lidded he stabbed the flannel cakes halfheartedly, nearly falling asleep in the process. Feeling more drowsy than hungry, he then pushed the plate slowly aside and rested his head on the granite kitchen counter. He mumbled contentedly and could be soon heard snoring.

Across from him, Eragon expertly flipped the eggs in the round frying pan, turning his ear towards the soft pattering of feet from the hallway. His eyes remained fixed to the golden yolks being careful not to break them. The footsteps grew louder. First thinking it was his father, he shouted. "Hey you want any breakfast this morning dad?"

No answer. The pattering grew closer, a gentle clearing of the throat. Eragon turned towards the sound eyebrows raised in curiosity. He then grinned.

"Oh Hey Nasuada..." with his left hand he pointed at the frying pan. "You want any eggs?"

The dark skinned girl merely smiled, shaking her head in the negative while yawning heavily. Her eyes wandered around the roomy kitchen.

Each room of the Manor held a certain aura of royalty and of a keen sense of style. The kitchen was no different. Smoothed granite counters, marble tiles and stainless steel appliances all polished to perfection. Nasuada wondered if there was another presence in the house, an invisible house keeper, they all kept a secret, who tended to all the cleaning. Every room that she had seen so far had been sparkling and polished. No one with a normal working life could have possibly had enough time to clean all three floors of the house regularly.

As Nasuada stepped further into the kitchen her umber eyes glanced towards the untouched plate of pancakes that were conveniently placed before Murtagh. She smirked devilishly while eying Murtagh with caution. The dark haired boy was slumped over the counter, face pressed against the hard granite. He was fast asleep; gentle snoring confirmed nudging Murtagh, Nasuada smiled when she received no response. Eragon grinned as he saw her turning away from his cooking. With a careful hand Nasuada gently lifted the plate from before Murtagh, cringing a bit at the weight on her left hand. She snickered quietly to herself as she held the plate in both hands. Eragon could only smile while shaking his head at her.

"Put it back." The voice was cold, like a rude awakening. Nasuada froze as she stared at the stirring figure of the dark haired boy. She felt her heart stop in those few seconds. _'He hadn't been asleep...' _She felt her face crumple as cold blue eyes pierced at her.

Raising himself in his seat, Murtagh stared at her stonily while motioning with his right hand for her to hand the plate back to him. Nasuada scowled at him, then unexpectedly grabbed a fork from the counter, jabbed at one of the pan cakes and stuffed it squarely into her mouth. Murtagh looked plainly annoyed, he grounded his teeth together refraining himself from swearing at her. Nasuada merely grinned widely at his expression, pancake practically falling out of her mouth. Belatedly she began chewing while huddling the small pile of pancakes to herself. She sat by the counter chewing contentedly.

A large snarl tugged at pale lips. Murtagh folded his arms against his chest while muttering harshly as he rose from his stool. "Gods, no wonder your so fat..."

Eragon only raised an eyebrow as eyes visibly widened. Deciding that silence would be the best remedy for this sort of situation, he inched away from the counter, first turning off the stove. His eyes widened further as he spied Nasuada's grip visibly tighten around her fork. He silently stalked away from the seething young woman, towards the refrigerator, where Murtagh had his back turned, seemingly unconscious of what was happening. Eragon thought Nasuada would explode. Though dark brown in colour, her face had gone visibly red and her left eye was twitching dramatically. Her left hand was clenched into a tight fist, while the right one clenched the fork until her hand became numb. Losing the slight liking Murtagh had earned from her last night, Nasuada slowly stood from her seat, still clenching the fork in hand. With even more, calculating footsteps she inched towards Murtagh, while Eragon stared wide eyed at her, tapping Murtagh nervously on the shoulder. The boy did not respond...

"Good Morning everyone!" The bright voice broke the dark tension of the spell that had hovered across the kitchen only seconds ago. Nasuada felt her anger quickly replaced by fear. The fork slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor resonating a loud clank. She turned around to face Principal Brom who was fully dressed in a sleek Italian suit. His brown hair had been combed back, and visibly greased. All teenagers raised an eyebrow at this.

Seeing their expression the older man shrugged with a grin. "What? General staff meeting today. I have to look my best." He then clutched to the large briefcase he had been swinging idly in his right hand. Nasuada smiled, remembering when her father used to carry a large briefcase as well. She turned to him smile still gracing her face. "You always look your best Brom..." The Principal merely chuckled a thanks while grabbing the piece of toast that was handed to him by his son.

He murmured another expression of gratitude while stuffing the food into his mouth and fumbling his pocket for the keys. Through his chewing he grunted. "Everybody ready?" he looked at his watch deciphering the time.

Feeling a bit rushed Nasuada grabbed the last of her school books which were rested neatly on the kitchen table opposite the counter and stuffed them into her orange school bag. She then slung the bag over her shoulder while following Brom out into the foyer. Eragon and Murtagh quickly tidied up in the kitchen. Belatedly they joined them.

"Well I guess its off to school from here.." Eragon mumbled to Nasuada as the front door clicked behind them and they headed out towards the vehicle. There was no reply. Eragon turned to her and frowned as he saw her glaring at Murtagh who walked ahead of them, oblivious to the hatred resonating from the girl.

"You know..glaring will do you no good." Eragon nudged her concerned. Nasuada huffed, still staring at Murtagh with unfathomable hatred. Belatedly she turned to her friend. "Makes me feel a hell of a lot better." she said loudly. " And prevents me from stabbing him.." she thought the latter with venom. As the loud click click of the car alarm was heard deactivating, and the doors being swung open, Eragon stared at Nasuada with an undecipherable expression. Finally he spoke half jokingly.

"You have anger issues." He murmured as they slid into the comfy seats of the car. Nasuada buckled her seat belts, her voice had gotten cold and serious. Without as much as a wayward glance she murmured back. "I know."

-X-

The ride to school was surprisingly more interesting than the first. Light conversation was made between all three males in the car, but Nasuada however remained silent throughout the journey, contemplating Eragon's words as the car sped along past green pasture land._ Anger issues_. Her new found friend was not the only one to say this to her. In fact she had heard this countless of times, before. Mainly from the middle school teachers who always pried her dark fingers from the snarly boy or girl who happened to say ill about mother or father. But as time passed it had turned into any child who dared say ill about her or offend her in the least of ways. Nasuada frowned as she realized, her long escapades and visits to the principal's office for fighting in school had only begun after her mother's death; Her father left to bare the brunt of her disorderly behaviour in school. She cringed remembering his wrath, and remembering the military school the next summer. That had changed her somewhat, the days spent with even angrier children than herself, with even more pain and even more problems that she had. It had hardened her, and somehow it had matured her. And when this change was evident to her father, he then sent her to Junior High. Her start at Varden High came soon after. Anger Problems, no, they weren't completely gone, but the pain of losing a mother wasn't completely gone either.

"Nasuada..." the girl snapped out of reflection, turning to Eragon with a surprised expression to find him standing outside of the car whose doors had been opened. Nasuada blinked, she hadn't even realized when the car had stopped, much more, that they had arrived.

. . .

_School_

The notion emitted a tired sigh from the girl, who clutched lazily to her orange school bag, slung equally lazily around her shoulder. Beside her a blond haired boy walked along, his back oddly straight from years of proper training. Eragon constantly chattered on about Arya the Syrian girl who Nasuada shared history classes with. His words however slivered into one ear and out the other. Her attention was swallowed up in the bustle of the corridor, as students rushed about preparing for their respective classes. Ok maybe her attention was more focused on someone in particular.

Dark, raven hair shadowing the most haunting pale blue eyes she had ever seen. Sleek, white, long sleeved shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and wrists, something against the school's strict rules of decorum and presentation; Yet strangely to Nasuada it was attractive, the mere rebelliousness of the simple act. Light pink lips were pulled between an expression of contemplation and boredom. His right arm pressed against the locker, his left hand fiddling vigorously with the combination lock that refused to open. Suddenly he stiffened hands falling, as his head turned in her direction. Pale blue eyes stared blankly at her, as her brown eyes locked with his. The tiniest, almost unnoticeable smile swept across his lips, his eyes gleaming at her for a moment. And then he quickly turned back to the insolent lock as if the moment had never happened. Nasuada however had noticed this gesture, only allowing herself to blush with a small smile, when he had turned away.

"Murtagh..!" a chirpy female voice snapped Nasuada's attention back to the raven haired boy. Brown eyes widened as a pair of pale slender arms were wrapped around his neck. Fingers twitched as an equally offending pair of cherry stained lips, met slender pink ones. The sight of the lover's embrace was like a crow bar swung to the face. She quickly turned her eyes away as a hollow feeling enveloped her stomach. Wishing to have been listening to her friend, she turned to her left, but Eragon had gone. She rolled her eyes glancing at the other end of the corridor where he was wrapped up in deep conversation with Arya.

"Sucks huh?" Nasuada jumped in fright as a familiar voice snapped behind her. She turned around, fright changing to annoyed humour as her gaze met that of Saphira. The blond haired girl grinned cheekily at her, blue highlights gleaming in the morning light.

"What are you talking about in particular..." her voice went blanched as she glanced back at the long haired girl who was now flirting casually with the dark haired boy; His back pressed against the locker, her lips murmuring sensually into his ear, both of them ignoring everyone and everything around them.

" Miss_ Snippety_ and Eragon over by the tenth grade lockers, who else?" Saphira glanced at Nasuada in absurdity, as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet. Nasuada merely chuckled and shrugged her shoulders.

"You know..Arya isn't that bad if you get to know her..." Nasuada suggested, glad for the distraction that Saphira provided. She turned her back to the doting couple who were now talking casually.

Saphira merely scoffed in amusement, her hair flipping dramatically about her. "And broccoli isn't green." was the sarcastic reply. Nasuada chortled in amusement, as they walked comfortably down the corridor in quiet staring. Saphira had her eyes fixed on Arya, who was boredly talking to Eragon while stuffing the books from her bag, into her locker. Nasuada's eyes in turn, were stonily fixed on the long haired girl who still had one arm slung across Murtagh's shoulder. She grumbled inwardly as she saw how wonderfully slimmed she was. No wonder Murtagh said _she _was fat, if this girl were any skinnier and she would have looked borderline anorexic.

"Hm...interesting.." Saphira's voice echoed to Nasuada, her tone harshly teasing. Nasuada visibly twitched in surprise but to her credit she restrained from jumping.

"Huh..? What..?" Nasuada's voice suddenly got defensive as Saphira stared at her with narrowed eyes and a sordid grin that implied that she knew something no one else did. Nasuada began to get a bad feeling about it.

Saphira smirked poking Nasuada teasingly on the arm. "Ah, someone's got a little bit of jealousy going on." She smirked smugly while Nasuada's expression slumped into a deadly glare. She especially glared at her when she dared to whisper. "Ah...you prefer the **darker **type of guys. Morzanson's not really my type but he is sexy...in a ...sort of _creepy_ way..." Eyes widening, Nasuada turned to face Saphira who still had the smug expression but eyebrows were raised as if daring Nasuada challenge her statement. Hands curling into fists, Nasuada sighed deeply, wishing dearly at that moment to sink into the tiny cracks on the newly polished floors.

"Bringgg!" the screech that was supposed to be the ringing of the school bell tore through the calm of the corridor, causing all students to erupt in haste. The hallway turned into a haven of chaos as students literally trampled each other to get to class, aware of the severe consequences if they were late. To Nasuada however the bell was a Savior. A savior from Saphira's exposition of her. She turned to Saphira mumbling with satisfaction. "Ah, would you look at that! The bell just rang..gotta get to Literature class now!"

Saphira's face visibly crumpled with dissatisfaction, but eyes narrowed in icy resolve. "We'll discuss this at Lunch."

Nasuada's face fell. She'd _forgotten_ about lunch.

As Saphira stepped sharply down the corridor, her walk emitting total confidence, Nasuada stared after her walking casually down the corridor to her class merely two doors away.

"Begging for detention...?" the deep baritone of a familiar voice swept over her. She had heard it before, last night when she was in her room. Nasuada inwardly blushed remembering when Murtagh had surprised her. She turned around to face him, making certain her face remained cool and impassive.

"I could ask you the same thing..." she folded her arms "Morzanson." Eyes emitting a tinge of hostility, she stared at him. She glanced lightly about him relieved to see the pretty faced girl was gone.

"Let's just say, I have a bleak reputation around her to maintain." was his blunt reply. "What's your excuse?" Blue eyes continued to pierce into her. Nasuada only stared at the gray washed lockers.

"I..." she glanced around slightly nervous, not knowing what to say. "I have to get to class.." she said finally then turned around and without as much as a wayward glance or a word, bustled down the corridors and into the farthest classroom on the right.

Murtagh merely stared after her, curiosity etched on his features.

-X-

Nasuada remembered once when she had actually liked literature, but the Epic Romance between Romeo and Juliet seemed too fake, too sappy and too bloody annoying to be real. _"Who the heck falls in love in one night!"_ she grumbled inwardly as the burly teacher continued to yap about how lovely Shakespeare was in the rhyming scheme and plot of the play.

"You see the Genius Plot was evident through the climax of the play when Romeo and Juliet commit suicide being unable to live without each other, thus showing their ultimate love for one another. And tragically only through their deaths, Capulet's and Montegue's dispute can be resolved. A violent act, causing peace, can anyone see the irony?" A burly man with a falsetto voice shrilled across the classroom, his face alight with strange euphoria.

Only few students in the class shared similar feelings to Nasuada's. The rest, she assumed were hopeless romantics, prepared to die themselves for the sake of "love". Feeling rather irritated, she turned to the red haired boy beside her, grumbling lowly. "What plot! They fall in love one night. Then get married, have sex and die in a space of five freeking days!"

"Ah, but that's the irony of it isn't it." The boy turned to her. Nasuada looked up in annoyance expecting him to fawn over how wonderful the play was. She was surprised however when his face was twisted in the same disgust she shared. With bright sea green eyes he continued. "Shakespeare is revered as a great writer, excellent for plot and exposition. However when we relate this to current reality, his work falls short by a long shot. Nothing like that happens in real life. I wish the school board could see that so our Year wouldn't be subjected to this torture."

Nasuada grinned in agreement, eyes quickly glancing back to the teacher who was now turned towards the chalk board, writing vigorously. She again turned to the boy, eyes smiling at the one person she deemed sane in the class. "I must admit though...some of his work isn't that bad. You know the ones that can't really be compared to normal life in current times." She whispered to him, afraid the teacher might hear her.

The boy merely inched his chair closer to her. "You don't have to whisper you know. Mr. Jenning's doesn't really care. As long as you get a good midterm grade he's fine." Nasuada laughed lightly at this, staring at the teacher who she thought had slight resemblance to a whale.

"And I agree with you, my favourite of all his plays is Macbeth. His more romantic plays are more..."

"Sappy and nauseating?" Nasuada suggested with a grin, her tone more kinder than her words.

The boy merely laughed nodding in agreement. "You could say that." A pause. "What's _your_ favourite play?"

Nasuada glanced at him for a while before murmuring. "I'll tell you if you tell me your name." The boy stared at her a bit surprised, but quickly recovered.

"You can call me Thorn.."

"Thorn?" Nasuada looked confused. "That's your real name?"

The boy merely shook his head in the negative. "Uhm...You can just say my parents were not kind in naming me. Everyone here calls me Thorn, so...I've just adopted it."

"May I ask how you got that name?"

His face, decked with the tiniest of freckles stilled into a blank stare, the same she had seen Murtagh's face melt into on occasion. "I'd rather not tell you..." was the bleak reply.

"Oh...what was the name of the play? I told you my name...sort of... didnt I?" he asked his voice shifting to normal sarcastic humour.

"Cymbeline." Was Nasuada's reply as she glanced back at the teacher who she realized was now giving out an assignment. Thorn twisted his face in absurdity as if never hearing of the play, but before Nasuada could explain he already opened his mouth in speech.

"Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,  
And Phoebus 'gins arise,  
His steeds to water at those springs  
On chaliced flowers that lies;  
And winking Mary-buds begin  
To ope their golden eyes:  
With everything that pretty is,  
My lady sweet, arise."

Nasuada stared awed as he recited part of the play without the bat of an eye. He grinned at her surprise, while she smiled at him, knowing she had gained a friend.

-X-

Lunch came sooner than expected. Or maybe it was just the small fact that she had been chatting to Thorn throughout all three classes. Nasuada was rather elated and surprised to find out that he shared both Literature, Math and Home Economics with her new companion. They do say that time flies when your having fun. And the two had been blabbering about for almost all of the classes. The hours melted by like minutes, and Nasuada was surprised and bit horrified to find that Lunch had come already. The classrooms were quickly emptied as students poured into the cafeteria.

Compared to her former school, the cafeteria at Varden High was beyond humongous. Nasuada stared about in slight disorientation at the large horde of students before her all enveloped in their own world, their own cliches. She found it backward, the way people were so segregated. Each group sat at different tables not even thinking of letting another out of their 'circle of friends' sit next to them, yet it could not be described as anything different from her school back in New York.

There was always the Braniacs, who sat by the windows, in a large bundle,armed with pencils, rulers and such. Their title earned by the strict 98% average they all received at the end of the year; Their kind noted by the large towering notebooks they all carried and each of them wore black framed glasses, no contacts were allowed. It was a hard group to get into...Nasuada shook her head. She wouldn't have fit in anyway. Her eyes glanced towards the group by the left corner.

At this table were a bunch of mixed races, Nasuada smiled at this then she frowned a bit, realized that all of them had brightly coloured hair. She only raised an eyebrow as she walked casually in and out of the rows of benches. Eyes narrowed for a while as she stared at the table again. "Was that...Saphira?" she could not tell. Eyes fixed on the group Nasuada continued to walk ahead, not seeing the slender girl in front of her.

"Hey...watch were your going idiot!" A whiny voice barked at her as collided with another. Anger springing up Nasuada turned to face the insolent girl who had just shouted in her ear. Her eyes narrowed then widened as she realized the face of the girl who had been hugging Murtagh.

She could only stare at her completely lost for words. The slender girl merely shook her head at her, sported a weird look, mumbled something about Nasuada being an idiot and shuffled on through the rows of benches, flashing her dark hair about her.

"Making new friends I see.." Nasuada turned around still in slight daze as she continued to gaze at the girl who had now joined the cafeteria lunch line and was visibly arguing with the lunch lady; A shaggy haired brunette with a large mole on her left cheek who was waving the large ladle at the girl threateningly.

"Everyday...I guess" Nasuada sighed as she turned to Thorn who had walked over to her, tray still in hand. She turned to him again, eyes narrowing into annoyance. "Who was that tart anyway?"

"Ah the infamous Elva, shes head of the Du Vangr Gata."

Nasuada looked confused. "The what?"

Thorn laughed. "The gymnastics team, that's what they named themselves. Quite a stupid name in my opinion...Its supposed to be latin...the grammars wrong." He shrugged. "Naturally she would a cheerleader..."

Nasuada frowned. "She certainly has the stereotypical attitude." Thorn merely shrugged his shoulders as he glanced at his tray again.

"You've got anywhere to sit?" Nasuada turned to the rosy cheeked boy who presently had the blue tray in one hand, the other brushing dark red hair out of his face. His freckles, though tiny, were still visible and Nasuada smirked thinking them rather cute for his mature demeanor. She quickly glanced around the cafeteria with a worried face.

"I'm supposed to be eating with Eragon..but I don't see him anywhere..." Her voice lowered as she continued to glance about, she sighed finally when she did not see him.

"Eragon Bromson?" Thorn looked at her sea green eyes narrowing a bit.

"Yea...you know him...?" She blinked at him. Thorn merely smirked a bit while laughing. "The Principal's son? Who wouldn't?" He then motioned for her to follow him.

"Don't worry about it...He'll find you..He knows this group." Nasuada merely looked at him in curiosity, wondering how Eragon could find them amongst the horde of students. She then bounded after Thorn clutching to the shaking tray in her right hand, her left clutching to her school bag. As the two maneuvered there way through the bustling crowd, Nasuada glanced towards the group that Thorn had been walking towards. Her eyes widened as her heart suddenly flopped into a freeze. Before them was Murtagh's posse, and even more importantly, Murtagh himself.

-X-

Lunch with Thorn had not been as expected. Icy blue eyes continued to stare at her across the table, while she fiddled nervously with her tuna sandwich. Murtagh, Nasuada could not believe that the two had been friends, much more sat together. She suddenly regretted accepting Thorn's offer and could be seen glancing fretfully about the cafeteria searching for someone..._anyone_ that could help her.

"That desperate huh..?" Nasuada looked up to see Murtagh staring at with a rather smug expression. She huffed sporting an annoyed one in return. "Where is Eragon. He should be here by now?"

"Your Love bird is over by candy machine , cheating on you.." Murtagh pointed towards the candy machine at the corner of the cafeteria. Temporarily ignoring his comment, Nasuada grinned visibly upon seeing Eragon chatting rather happily to a stiff Arya, the two casually strolled towards them as she waved.

"Hey guys.." Eragon smiled at them as he and Arya neared the table. The others who Nasuada had learned to be Larry and Joe Raazac ( the guys who pushed her down in the corridor along with Murtagh) shuffled down further allowing Eragon to sit by Nasuada, while Arya refused the seat offered to her.

"Murtagh was just saying here that your cheating on me.. Is that true Eragon?" Nasuada glared at Eragon her voice twisting into a stern demand. Eragon blinked at her while Murtagh rolled his eyes. He then smiled. "Im so sorry baby, but I've moved on." He then grabbed Arya's hand and stood up instinctively, with the silly grin still plastered over his face. Nasuada looked aghast, while Arya looked humorously annoyed.

"But..but..." she flung her hand up against her forehead as if fainting, the other clutching at her heart. She then swooned. "I thought what you and I had was specialllll..." she squealed as Thorn and the others snickered at her mocking of Murtagh. He however had a permanent scowl on his face. Discarding of the fake high pitched voice Nasuada turned to Murtagh flinging a banana to him from her lunch tray. "Oh cheer up monkey man..."

He merely scowled deeper gritting his teeth in anger. Nasuada's smirk deepened upon this, eyes daring him to challenge her.

"Hey guys.."

Nasuada and Murtagh both looked disappointed as Arya interrupted their glaring fest. "What?" both of them sounded irritated.

"The bell just rang...classes are starting again.." Nasuada jolted. "Crap! I have Mr. Tornac! I hear he's a hard ass...I cant afford to be late!" Grabbing her bags she then bolted down the cafeteria forgetting her words of goodbye.

-X-

Mr. Tornac a man of tall stature, excellent posture and wavy black hair that was always slicked back into a short ponytail. He was in his mid forties, that was evident from the fine lines that feathered the corner of his mouth and eyes, yet he was a handsome man. And Nasuada undoubtedly thought that women swooned over him in earlier years. Although he was pleasant to look at however, Nasuada had heard well that he was as tough and emotionless as a rock. An extremely strict teacher and brutal instructor. Nasuada huffed at her luck. Fencing class with **_the stone_**... _Just greaaat._

The Spaniard looked up and down the rows again his face fixed like granite. With a strong accent he echoed across the huddled group of tenth graders, who had been presently organized in an intricate array of rows. "As a welcoming custom for each year, it is tradition for the Fencing team to join us and participate in the first lesson with us." He smirked a bit at the horrified faces of his students. "I use this as an opportunity to test your instincts and natural abilities and tact. Only certain people have this..do not be surprised if you get beaten in a matter of seconds.." He smirked again, the smile not reaching his eyes. "I have trained them well."

As if on que four youths stepped forward with their masks fully donned and Sabre's readily in their right hands. As the rest of the class, Nasuada was utterly intimidated. She visibly stared at the teacher aghast, as she noted that their weapons were meant for cutting, quite unlike the ones that their class had been provided with.

She was about to complain when the teacher jabbed his finger into the crowd. "You!"

Nasuada visibly tensed, as he pointed to orange haired girl in front of her. The girl visibly trembled as she was called forward and handed a sword and a mask, she was then instructed to spar with a member of the Fencing team who were all dressed in black, their faces hidden by masks. Her sparring partner however was obviously a woman as her breasts were still obvious through the suit, this made Nasuada breath a bit easier, she wondered if she would be that lucky.

She was not.

"What!" She stared at the teacher with incredulous eyes, as he pointed at a tall youth with the Sabre pointing menacingly at her. "You spar him." The teacher continued, chewing on a piece of gum. He pointed his own sword at her poking Nasuada in the side and urging her forward. This had to be a sin...against the rules at least. Not only was she being forced to participate in the activity, but she was the only girl having to fight a male. And the tallest one of the lot at that. She growled inwardly as she stared at the flimsy foil given to her.

"You've got to be kidding me..." She murmured, and then without warning...the boy before her lunged.

Back and forth...back and forth. Jump, swipe.. thrust.. block. Nasuada blinked in fright as the sword swiped at her again, she ducked in fear, cowering as he circled her seemingly bored and rather unimpressed with her. His aura was filled with arrogance as if she was a mere waste of time. Lunge, he thrust the sword at her again and she stepped backward blocking as fear echoed in thought. Tornac raised an eyebrow at this sparking his slight interest. Nasuada blocked again a bit stronger this time as the sword thrust towards her.

"Hmph..not bad..." Nasuada smirked behind the white mask. "For a flimsy tenth grader..." the boy continued twirling into a series of twists which confused Nasuada, he then knocked the foil from her with his own sword and poked it menacingly at her throat.

"Dead." he murmured, deep satisfaction evident in his voice. Nasuada could only sigh in defeat as Mr. Tornac called the match. As she turned back towards the group the boy murmured to her disdain evident in his voice. "Too bad for your father eh Nightstalker, taught you everything but fencing...Stupid man." And that was when she lost it.

Mask flung to the ground in rage as she charged at him arms out for his throat. The young man had turned at the last minute however dropping his sword to fling her to the ground, but it was too late, Nasuada was already on top of him. Struggling ensued as glove cladded hands gripped her fists which had but moments ago pounded the him furiously in the stomach. He flung her off him clutching then to his abdomen as the girl rolled off and crouched lowly on the ground looking like a deranged animal.

"You afraid...of a mere _tenth grader?_" She taunted as a surge of familar anger sprung into her veins. She felt like she was in middle school again, when the children crowded all around her as she beat another boy to a pulp. She then stood up straight glancing around at the class who seemed to be on the edge, watching every move. Even Mr. Tornac was visibly interested, ignoring his duties as a teacher, and instead of breaking up the fight was observing it closely. Nasuada smirked, at her approving crowd. The young man tore his mask from his face, teeth gritted. "Your just a girl...you can't do anything." He then walked squarely up to her and shoved her meaning to push her to the ground. Nasuada caught her balance last minute however and lowering into a back stance and swung her back leg towards him kicking him squarely in the jaw. Freezing for a moment in mid topple, the young man then collapsed to the floor, his long wavy hair spilling about him. Nasuada stood above him foot resting on his chest, picking up the discarded sabre in one hand, she murmured to the groaning boy. "Dead."

She stood up glancing at the teacher with hard eyes, he merely stared at her, with a tiny smile etched across his face. "Well, that's one way of doing it...Though it is against the rules...Bueno chica lo disfrute. But you might think about joining the martial arts club, or...boxing, fencing is a more calm tempered game." Nasuada's expression sunk at the statement as she dropped the sabre, while the boy on the ground sported a clever smirk as he clutched bitterly at his jaw. His expression melted however as Mr. Tornac continued stepping casually from seat by the windows.

"Blodhgarm,would you please acknowledge your defeater properly."The young man gawked at his teacher then glared at Nasuada who had a smug expression. Rubbing his jaw a bit, the young man stiffly bowed before her, and Nasuada did in turn while the tenth graders cheered her on in the background. She turned her back to him as she headed towards her row.

"No!" Nasuada turned towards the sound and was rather surprised to find the group of Fencing team restraining Blodhgarm while one member clutched to the sword, which had pierced through his own glove. Nasuada's eyes widened realizing that the young man had tried to stab her, she stared at the other with the slashed hand, realizing also that he had saved her. Nasuada could only gaze as streams of blood slivered in steady drips unto the padded flooring. Everyone rushed about running towards her, others clutching and screaming for the school nurse, but everything seemed hazy...so so hazy. They all blurred together both sound and picture. Nasuada could only see herself staring, gazing into the mask of the youth who saved her. She blinked at him as time melted together and he was taken away by the coach.

-X-

"You ok? Heard you had a rough day?" Eragon murmured to her as the car sped from the gates of the school. Brom was in a grumpy mood having heard about the incident and having a failed meeting with the unpleasable staff. He sped along the roads politely cursing whoever was in his way in a rather dignified manner. The rest of the school day had been spent in the nurses office, the nurse herself had not been there but the coach and other staff thought it safe for her until reasonable action could be done concerning the matter. Nasuada spent the hours reviewing the moment over and over in her head. The boy had obviously stepped in front of her blocking the sword with his hand, how else would he have gotten injured. Nasuada only wondered what happened to him, had he been taken to the hospital?

She fiddled with the seat belt as Eragon turned to her expecting an answer. "Yeah...it was...a strange day." She said finally. " Have you heard anything about the boy who was injured? Nobody from class seemed to know anything..." she said to Eragon, but he shook his head in the negative, yelling at his dad to slow down.

"Your gonna kill us you know.." He grunted as his father huffed in slight compliance, slowing the vehicle to a tolerable rate.

"Well I do hope he's ok..though.." she murmured her eyes glancing idly at Murtagh who seemed to be asleep in the front. As usual he made no conversation and quickly drifted off into a light slumber.

During the drive, Nasuada spent her time idly looking through the window her mind set on the days events, while Eragon continued to chastise his dad who was recovering slowly from his deplorable mood. It was late afternoon that they had left the Varden High campus and by the time they arrived before infamous gates of Morzan's Manor it was dusk. The sun was setting behind them sending a blinding array of bright oranges and reds across the cream coloured Mansion giving it an unearthly glow. The site was breathtaking. The car stood at halt for a few moments as both driver and passengers took in the small glories of gods creation. And when the sun was set bleakly in the distance the red and oranges fading in due time, Brom pressed the round buttons on his car keys, opening the large gates of the Manor and slowly driving inwards. Nasuada could not help but stare about her in the same awe and amazement as when she first entered the gates. The beauty of the Manor never ceased to amaze her, and she never ceased to drench her eyes full of its beauty, drinking in the scenery with hungry eyes.

-X-

Tonight was different from other nights. Nasuada could tell. The way the others handled Murtagh with utter care and both Brom and Eragon sported shy expressions as they interacted with the blanched young man. After a quick shower and a well appreciated one, Nasuada had joined the others in the dining hall where both Brom and Murtagh were seated, Eragon stood placing the various dishes on the were dressed semi formally, suddenly Nasuada was grateful for the sleek cream coloured baby doll dress that she had gotten for her birthday and the heads up that Eragon gave her concerning the apparel for the night. The dress was fitted to be more formal and both the collar and the tail were interlaced with threads of gold. Hair done up in a series of fancy curls and adorned with pearl necklace she blended in perfectly with the formal aura.

Roast lamb garnished with an array of various colourful vegetables and berries that were dipped in a type of light sauce. That was the last dish that Eragon struggled to place on the table, with another bowl in hand fulled to the bring with raspberries and strawberries that were large beyond compare. Quickly helping him with the remainder of dishes Nasuada then took her seat at the opposite end to Brom who sat at the head of the table. She was farthest from everyone there. Eragon took a seat next to his father while Murtagh sat at the other side of the table, staring intently at the empty plate before him. Seated, Nasuada stared at the table before her with awe and partial disgust. The food there could feed a family of ten.

Aside from the A succulent turkey stuffed with rich seasons of garlic and leak, garnished with large slices of pineapples that were expertly placed about the well cooked bird. Next to that plate was an array of vegetables all piled high in a rather creative design of a volcano spewing lava. Nasuada snorted a giggle at how clever it was, cauliflower was used to cone the volcano while it spewed an orange sea of shredded carrots. Lettuce, parsley and broccoli were all positioned below as foliage. Her grin disappeared however as her gaze shifted towards Murtagh, who was still staring at his plate; but his arrogant demeanor had disappeared leaving a cold, detached one. He seemed somewhat lost as he stared at that plate seemingly searching for something he had lost and could never regain.

"Come up, my dear. Sit closer…after all we do consider you apart of this family." Nasuada's attention shifted back towards the head of the table. Brom motioned towards the place where Murtagh was sitting. She hesitated at this preferring to sit beside Eragon, but eventually complied shifting her chair towards the young man who had now taken it upon himself to stare at her. Nasuada noted curiously that his eyes which had always displayed brightly the flag of conceit and annoyance at her were now defeated and filled with emotion as his face stilled in cool detachment. Not knowing what to say to him, she merely took her seat next to him while stiffly turning her gaze towards Brom. Murtagh followed her example turning his gaze as well to his stepfather.

"Tonight is a night filled with bittersweet memories, yet we are compelled to remember only the sweet ones." Brom paused smoothing his mustache with his left hand, in his right was a trinket box. Nasuada only stared about her in ignorant confusion as the man before her became misty eyed. "She was dear…to all of us, and yet her presence lives on in each of us, in our actions in our thoughts and in our hearts." His glance shifted from the purple trinket box to Nasuada who was slowly understanding. Remembering her own mother, Nasuada swallowed harshly while staring at Brom who now had his eyes firmly fixed on her. "Nasuada, I'm sure she would have enjoyed your company." He laughed half heartedly. "She was always telling us, she was sick of our male tendencies and would've loved a daughter."

Nasuada merely smiled politely, glanced at the table before her and then turned to Brom again with an undecipherable expression. "I'm sorry….for your loss." She paused adding the later. "I know what it feels like…to lose someone." She then glanced at Eragon who was now staring at her with misty brown eyes. Her eyes then shifted to Murtagh who was doing the same, yet the mist of tears seemed to evade him. "Im sorry…for you all.." she said the last in a murmur but all at the table had heard. And while Brom and Eragon both nodded their heads and stared at the feast before them, Murtagh still stared at her. She turned to him quickly in mid sentence, but incidentally her elbow caught the edge of the table cloth pulling it towards her and however unlucky for the girl the bowl of stewed prunes before her turned over spilling all over her lap. Nasuada jumped back in horror as the lukewarm liquid stained her dress, leaving her soaked and heated. She ungracefully excused herself, heading for the kitchen in a distressed mood. Murtagh soon followed telling Eragon to sit when he offered to help.

Bounty, napkins..anything! Yet Nasuada could find nothing. She had to settle for a measly rag that had been left carelessly at the counter. Staring at it apprehensively as to its previous purpose, Nasuada reluctantly took it in one hand pressed it on the large stain that enveloped most of the dress. Starting for her chest towards her nether regions, Nasuada considered herself unlucky and angrily pressed the cloth against her dress rubbing it vigourously while cursing under her breath.

"Stupid..Stupid dress! Why did he have to buy it anyway! ..ugh! So dam expensive too!" A large sigh was followed as she continued to rub the stubborn stain. Frustrated at no result she flung the rag down on the counter and slumped over it as emotion flooded her. She remembered the pain so well of losing her own mother. She could only imagine the pain Murtagh felt…his mother had been murdered…murdered by his father. Her eyes clouded with tears.

"You should try these….I hear they work." A pale hand procured a pen like object towards her from behind. Nasuada turned around surprised to see Murtagh handing her the object. Taking it in hand she glanced at it reading the label. "Clorox bleach pen…guaranteed to take on your toughest stains" She then laughed bitterly, though somewhat surprised by his doting nature. "Murtagh if you haven't noticed this isn't a little stain. She motioned to her dress with the large purple stain marring the majority of it. He shrugged his shoulders half smiling at her.

"Was it expensive?" He leaned against the counter turning away from her. Nasuada sighed defeatedly. "My father gave it to me as a birthday gift. And yes, it was rather expensive."

"Well for what its worth, you look ….lovely." He continued to stare before him as his voice lowered shyly. Surprised by his nature and the compliment, Nasuada turned to him hands resting on the counter as she stood beside him. "You mean…Looked lovely, but thank you anyway...I guess."

The dark haired boy eased himself from the counter turning towards her with a small smile. "No..I mean look. Dress ruined or not you still look... nice…" his voice drifted off forming into another sentence as if he had never said the first. "Today was her birthday…" he nodded in memory. "My mom." He turned to her again. "She died when I was younger..."

"I know.." Nasuada murmured. She glanced at Murtagh's curious expression, mumbling. "Eragon told me." Murtagh could only roll his eyes at this.

"Of course he did." He huffed. His eyes then narrowed, "Did he tell you what my father did…to me?" He growled lowly at her expecting an answer. Nasuada merely shook her head in the negative. "He wouldn't mention it. You know he does respect you..." Murtagh sighed deeply. "I know…"

Murtagh then walked idly around the kitchen touching various implements until his fingers met the sharp blade of a knife. He paused, picking up the instrument precociously. Nasuada eyed him with caution. With a blanched voice Murtagh spoke to her. "You ever had a near death experience, Nasuada." He said her name carefully, pronouncing every accent with detail. He glanced at her seriously, and then eyes narrowed as she burst out into a light chortle.

"Yea…" she grinned still laughing a bit. "It's pretty dumb though, not as breath taking as other near death stories. I merely choked on a piece of broccoli at a restaurant." She smiled shaking her head at the memory. "No one there knew the Heimlich maneuver so I had to help myself. I was practically blue when it came out; they had to rush me to the hospital after cause I had passed out." She shivered instinctively. "Never ate there again… and I made sure to chew properly after that."

Murtagh looked at her, his usual stoic nature coming back to him for a moment. He grinned at her in absurdity while shaking his head. With the same grin he then blurted out. "My father slashed my back open with the family heirloom, a fencing sword passed down by his father to him. He did it in a drunken rage after he heard my mother was with Brom…I was still in elementary at that time." Nasuada's eyes shot open at this as she was lost for words. Murtagh merely glanced at the knife still in his hand, he twisted it around between long fingers. "My father…was...a cruel man, a hunter by nature, but he could also fight. A master at the sword infact." Putting down the knife he held up his other hand unbuttoning the sleeve which had hidden most of it. He then held it up in plain light before Nasuada. "I think I've inherited his skill at most. I dare not say his temper though, he did have a terrible one, and so do you…I'm surprised you didn't get suspended. Blodhgarm's got ill luck though. Brom put him out for a week…"

Umber eyes widened even further as Nasuada gazed at Murtagh's hand which had been bandaged. She then remembered her fencing class with Mr. Tornac. She stuttered a bit, as Murtagh slowly stepped towards her. "It ..was you?..You saved..me.." she murmured in disbelief, staring at the young man who now had a real smile across his face.

"You should learn better to control your temper." He chided. "This actually does hurt you know.." he shook his injured hand for her to see. Nasuada rolled her eyes. "You didn't have to save me you know…"

'And let him kill you?" Murtagh looked surprised then smirked. "Who else would I have to annoy? Eragon? His reactions get old after a while.." His smirk dissipated as he stared at Nasuada again with the same look she had seen him with when they were alone in her room. "Yours on the other hand…never cease to amaze me." He stepped towards her again, closing the gap between them. Nasuada stiffed as she realized that Murtagh had backed her into a corner. She could only stare into his eyes as he leaned towards her again. She felt her heart thud and bleakly wondered if he could hear it pounding rabidly as he leaned closer towards her. They were inches away from each other now and she could smell the lovely scent of musk that ever so intoxicated her. Her mind reeled in panic, yet excitement as his lips met hers lightly. She felt her breath stop, as his lips pressed more firmly against hers, his hands sliding down to the small of her back and hers instinctively around his shoulders. Nasuada shivered as she felt the cool of his fingers grabbing her while pushing her against the counter, his other hand pressing against her neck deepening the kiss. Unknowingly his tongue slid into her mouth and strangely Nasuada could feel herself kissing him back. She relished the feeling of his body against hers, his warmth, of his lips against her own wanting it to never end.

"Got the stain out..?" Nasuada quickly retracted her hands from Murtagh almost shoving him off in the process. She stared ashamedly at Eragon who now had the "wtf?" expression written clearly across his features. He had barged in through the door and had obviously seen them kissing. His eyes were wide as saucers as he continued to stare at the both of them who stood askew. Murtagh was blushing lightly, while Nasuada looked utterly abashed. Clearing her throat in embarrassment and murmuring something about changing her dress, she then ran sharply out of the kitchen and up the stairs which led to the bedrooms intending to hide her guilt there. All the while she thought of how lovely the kiss had been….hm…her _first_ kiss. Nasuada's blush deepened as she bounded up the stairs towards her bedroom. Part of her wondered however if Murtagh had meant it…she frowned a bit at this.

Eragon still looked aghast as he stood staring at Murtagh who now sported a look of satisfaction.

"Eighty bucks, Eragon. Hand it over…" He motioned to his brother with his good hand. "You bet on the first day she came here that she would never speak to me civilly much more kiss me. I obviously proved you wrong." Eragon frowned stuffing his hands in his pocket procuring his wallet in the same movement. "Gosh…I would've never thought…" he still looked surprised as he glanced towards the stairs, then he frowned. "Did you guys plan this together…are you splitting the money with her or something..?" Murtagh shook his head while counting the money that his brother had handed him.

"No..she doesn't know." Murtagh glanced up the stairs eyes suddenly looking guilty. Eragon's frown deepened into concern.

"This isn't good…I thought you two had planned it." Eragon sighed woefully. "You know what this means right? ..She _likes_ you.." he said the last words as if they were utter detriment. Murtagh only raised his eyebrow at this as Eragon continued to act in a _"woe is me"_ manner, portraying that liking Murtagh was some sort of sin.

"I know." The words were sharp, and Eragon stopped his charades and turned to Murtagh in anger. "Well stop leading her on then! I can't believe you!" He whispered in anger careful for Brom not to hear. Murtagh's eyes narrowed. "Stop getting your panties in a twist..Everything will work out." He stood straightening his tie with his good hand and stepping towards the entrance to the dining hall, murmuring the last words to Eragon. "Besides…I didn't say that I never liked her.."

Eragon could only blink in surprise at the last statement as his brother bounded back into the hall to meet Brom at the table. Shock still reverberating from his features Eragon stared back towards the stairs half knowing that Nasuada had no plans of coming down. Sighing to himself he started up the stairs knowing that they both needed a talk after what had happened. Yet he couldnt help but think of what Murtagh had said. Throughout his years of knowing him, Murtagh never said he liked anyone.

* * *

Well Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. Sorry the update was late, but I have alot of stuff to do. Mainly school work and other evil's given to me by teachers. School is starting very soon and this is going to be my busiest year because this is when the cxc examinations are gonna be held. So i wont be updating for a while...especially my other story...Hibiscus. Im sorry guys but Ill do the best I can, however Im not making any promises.

God bless all of you! And please read and review, they are always appreciated.

With lots of love to all readers and fans

-S.B


	7. Chapter 7: When Things Turns Sour

Please note my dearies that I had some spare time and thus this is a short and unusual update. Nonetheless enjoy. Lol Murtagh is really mean...and Nasuada is really angry. XD Wow such a lovely combination isnt it? o-o Also Nasuada's father has been keeping something from her. Something that will most definitely break her.

* * *

Chapter Seven

When Things Turn Sour

The talk with Nasuada had not ended as Eragon had expected. Eragon could hardly believe that she was not angry with what Murtagh had done, but rather seemed _disappointed_? He continued to stare at her with curious hazel eyes as the girl mulled around the room in a dampened mood refusing to comment on Eragon's confession of the matter. That made him feel even guiltier as he knew he shouldn't have made the bet anyway...yet he consoled himself with the fact that it had been _Murtagh _who had suggested it.

After a bit of convincing Nasuada had reluctantly joined the others in the dining hall again after trading her ruined dress for that of a casual gown; a sun dress with dark polka dots of blue and white. Dinner was even more awkward than before with silent glances and diversions between each person. Brom watched all at the table while Eragon watched bothNasuada and his brother from his peripheral view. Murtagh constantly stared at her, and she avoided his gaze with equal purpose. And finally when Nasuada did look at Murtagh the look of hurt in her eyes was rather conspicuous though she tried to hide it. Murtagh's initial smirk twisted into a surprised frown at this, then slowly into a look of morbid comprehension. He turned to Eragon with a cold stare, his lips frigid, carved into a thin line as equally cold blue eyes bore into him. At this Eragon looked away in guilt, poking at his food nervously, while Nasuada looked down at her plate and sighed as slight hurt and disappointment enveloped her. That had been the reaction for the night, but in the morning came the response that Eragon had expected.

-X-

_Stark raving mad._ There could be no other words to describe what was obviously etched deep into the Nightstalker's eyes. Eragon continued to glance at her in his peripheral view as they stood by the lockers the following morning, unpacking various books and what not. Nasuada had not said a word from morning; neither greeting nor dismissal of any kind, and that unnerved him. He had never seen her so angry, to the point of an eerie calm. Her ebony face was stilled into a stony composure as neither her lips nor any facial feature for that matter betrayed any signs of life; instead they were etched into a frigid calm. The only thing that betrayed her utter wrath was the steamy look of hatred that glazed her eyes as she stood frozen by the locker seemingly peering at the books inside, but Eragon knew she was not looking at anything. She was merely remembering what Murtagh had done to her; merely festering in the anger that boiled within.

"Bromson? What's up with you? You look a bit _paled _…are you feeling well?" Eragon nearly jumped as the sound of Arya's voice jabbed at him; her deep accent teased his ear as she walked over to him. Books casually resting in her right arm, her left tapping him squarely on the shoulder, Arya's look of concern shrank into her usual stiff smile as she glanced at Nasuada's detached figure, not taking notice of her seething eyes. Eragon smiled weakly at Arya then glanced back at Nasuada with a pained expression. "Depends…I know someone who won't be in a short while." He murmured as his gaze caught that of Murtagh coming up the corridor. Thorn was beside him and the two were seemingly in a rather deep discussion. Eragon's eyes widened into an aghast expression as he saw Nasuada stride stiffly towards the two. He saw Murtagh walking along oblivious to the oncoming danger. He gritted his teeth in panic, then Thorn saw her and nudged Murtagh on the shoulder. By his candid expression the red head was obviously teasing him as he snorted with a grin, but when Murtagh looked up his face suddenly froze. And soon enough he too froze in the corridor as Nasuada continued to walk towards them, neither hastening nor slowing her pace. Eragon clung to the locker caught up in the hair curling intensity when a sultry voice interrupted.

"I knew it…You totally like her." Arya's voice sounded a matter a fact, and Eragon nearly choked as the words poured out of her mouth.

"What!" He was flabbergasted, stunned all together. Mouth propped open in the appropriate response as Eragon turned to her with the strangest of expressions written all over his face. It was twisted between on of utter absurdity and one of total mental scarring at the thought of he and Nasuada involved romantically. Arya merely chuckled at his expression, slinging her bag around her shoulder until she was comfortable.

"Oh don't deny it Eragon. You're around her all the time…You should have seen the way you were looking at her a while ago; All intense like you were gonna jump on her or something. Well…It's only…Natural I guess." She shrugged her shoulders in a light tone as she turned to walk away. Eragon could only stare after her, wondering if she was only teasing; an empty feeling enveloped him when he could not tell. "Got to get to class now before the bell rings…Huh?" She turned in surprise to find Eragon's hand on her shoulder. Arya's expression stilled in curiosity as she saw the serious expression on Eragon's face. Only on rare occasions did she ever see Eragon display any sort of graveness and it was always well accounted for. When Eragon went serious ….he meant it.

Hazel eyes gazed deeply into hers and there was something there that Arya could not understand; something that she had never felt before, yet it was written plainly in his eyes, so readable. Yet it eluded her and that unnerved her greatly. "Arya…I like _someone_, but not Nasuada…Someone else." She blinked at him as his voice took up the solemn nature in his eyes. She felt his hand slide down from her shoulder and into her own. "Arya..I ..like y-"

"HEY!" the girly squeak was like a crowbar to the face and Eragon's eye twitched for a second wishing to strangle the life out of the girl who had just interrupted the most important thing to him. He had gathered up the guts to finally tell Arya how he felt, and now it was all ruined. A sinking feeling enveloped him as the genuine curiosity in Arya's eyes disappeared into her usual blank stare. She was opening up and now she had shut down again. With angry eyes he turned to face the unwanted company. Hazel eyes met deep blue ones. Eragon blinked back in a bit of surprise to see a spunky blond girl before him, the sapphire highlights in her hair caught his attention immediately. He had seen her before…where? he could not recall.

"Your Eragon Bromson right?" Saphira's confidence outshone Arya's by a long shot, Eragon felt drawn by her vivaciousness; strict and right to the point. He could only manage to raise an eyebrow however.

"Uhm yea….and…Do I know you?" he queried voice betraying slight hostility.

"Nope." Saphira smirked again unveiling rather sharp teeth. Her peach colored lips curled into a deeper smirk. "You don't know me, but I know you." She shrugged. "And we both know _her_…" She pointed at Nasuada who was now standing rigid, arms folded before Murtagh. Thorn had backed off a few lockers down, knowing the matter did not involve him. Eragon noted that Saphira's nails were painted a deep ocean blue that he had almost mistaken for black. Arya raised an eyebrow at her and visibly turned her noise upwards, while Eragon looked in the opposite direction not noticing that the girls beside him were having a polite glare off.

"Uhm things don't look too good…" Eragon's voice interrupted the two and while Arya merely shrugged her shoulders in nonchalance, Saphira's eyes narrowed into a frown. She then unexpectedly grabbed Eragon by the arm . "What are you-" Before he could protest Eragon found himself being wrenched across the hall by the shorter girl.

"Come on we better stop them before they rip each others throats out…" As Eragon was dragged across the corridor Saphira paused, in both movement and speech. "No correction…before your _brother _gets his throat ripped out.." Widened eyed Eragon could only limp along Saphira was striding towards a cornered Murtagh and a seething Nasuada.

"Your even worse than I thought.." Both Saphira and Eragon could hear the conversation as they neared the two. Nasuada's voice was laced in rigidity.

"I can't believe I even ..." her voice trailed off into a harsh sigh. "...All I am to you is a stupid bet…" Nasuada murmured in false self loathing as her eyes narrowed from anger to hurt. Murtagh however did not notice. Donning his stoic and somewhat nonchalant facade he merely leaned against the locker beside him with one shoulder, folding his arms coolly while staring at Nasuada with a half smile. He was clearly mocking her.

Surprise at his uncaring reaction, Nasuada went silent for a moment, as narrowed eyes widened for a bit. They then settled back into deadly glare, her lips curling instinctively into a snarl. Murtagh only laughed at her expression, fueling her displeasure even more. Eragon thought she would explode.

Saphira attempted to interrupt. "Hey guys! Would you look at what a lovely day it is…bright sunny flowers and such…!" she began in a fake high pitched tone. Nasuada and Murtagh merely glanced at her with disdain, making sure she knew that her presence was not appreciated. Eragon cowered further to the back at this, managing to slip his hand from Saphira's. At their response, her happy façade shrunk into a tempered frown. "Alright, alright yea I know I'm a pain in the ass. Deal with it. But at this rate, your gonna get suspended…" she pointed at Nasuada. "And your gonna have your ass handed to you.." She pointed at Murtagh raising an eyebrow as he doubled over with laughter at her statement. Nasuada could only glare.

"Sure she wacked around Blodhgarm..He's a spineless idiot, with a half a brain." He flashed his hand at Nasuada. "She could never manage a decent human being in a proper fight….plus she won by default...the guy _clearly _tripped…And according to him, she some sort of _psycho-maniac _with anger problems..im inclined to agree somewhat.."

Without warning Nasuada lunged forward, but luckily enough Saphira caught her by the arm dragging her back, and murmuring words of calm that meant nothing to her. Finally Nasuada shrugged Saphira off while murmuring in utter hatred. "You better watch your back Morzanson.."

Murtagh merely smirked again his voice sounding patronizing. "And you in kind…Ill watch mine if you watch yours..agreed?" Nasuada merely rolled her eyes as she wandered off into the father end of the corridor with Saphira who had a firm arm around her shoulder in case she decided to lunge at Murtagh again. Unnoticed by the both girls was a piece of paper plastered across the Nightstalker's back. _"Beware, obvious anger issues here…"_

Thorn chuckled as he walked up beside him, watching the girls walk stiffly down the corridor not noticing Eragon at the side who was observing it all. "Nice sign ..Murtagh."

The dark haired boy's smirk grew into a grin. "Ah, that was too easy to put on too. She didn't notice a thing…"

Thorn shook his head as he chortled. "I do think the sign is right though..She does have issues..Heh..maybe Blodhgarm was right, maybe she is some sort of a psycho.."

Murtagh suddenly snapped at Thorn. "Don't say things like that..."

The red head only raised an eyebrow as he paused. "Or maybe you're the psycho…." He nodded as they both headed the opposite direction. Murtagh never responded. Thorn could only wonder why Murtagh had behaved that way towards the girl if he obviously thought different of her…

-X-

The Principal's office was something that naturally every student feared. Even some administration showed apprehension to venture through its doors, regarding the office as some sort of devil's ground. To Brom however it was a sanctuary and yet a prison. Yes, he could finally be alone to reminisce about the love that he had lost...but with that in mind, he also had Principal duties which as always over rid every aspect of his social life. He sighed tiredly as he put the phone from his ear and back to the receiver. That had been the fourth lengthy call for the day, another disgruntled parent concerned about the scholarship program that had been canceled. Regrettably many students from the program had to leave the Highschool as they were not able to pay their tuition fee. He sighed a bit as he thought of Nasuada, and the call that he had received from her father, explaining the plight that he had been going through, telling him of something he had never suspected; the _real reason_ that he had allowed Nasuada to stay with him. And the reason that her father had asked him not to tell her.

_"I understand completely, , Nasuada and my son are in fact very good friends...I would be happy to take her in..considering the circumstances..I don't know how she will react to this news however, as it is quite sensitive. Don't you think it best that you tell her...?"_

_"No."_Ajihad's voice became rigid, as a cough echoed across the telephone line. _"My daughter...I love her, however I think it best she not know. After all things could change..."_

_"You mean you could get better..." _Despite the situation, Brom sounded unconvinced, yet he tried to be polite. _"Though it is hardly my business Mr. Nightstalker as to how you relate to your daughter, I do think that it is best that you tell her. Things could ...not turn out as you would have them..."_

_"I am quite aware of that ...thank you for concern, and please tell Nasuada that I sent regards..." The man's voice drifted off concluding the end of the conversation, but Brom was not done._

_"Why don't you call her yourself...Ajihad..?" _All formality melted as Brom's voice twisted into an annoyed tone._  
_

There was a half laugh muffled by a cough at the other end._ "Finally we get past formalities Brom, though I would hardly believe it, after all it has been almost twenty odd years, at first I thought you had forgotten who I was. College somehow just seems like the other day..." _There was a pause and a sigh. _"You don't understand though, Nasuada...has never been able to deal with things like this very well. Sarah died when she was only twelve and...since then life's spiraled downwards. I lost the business and ...lets just say things haven't been looking up. This will crush her...And..I can't afford that."_

There was a pause as Brom contemplated the desperate words of the man, though the emotion did not linger in his voice it was clearly felt. _"Sarah died?"_ was all he could manage to say. He remembered the girl from the graduating class with the fluffy hair and absurdly large glasses. Nasuada resembled her alot, with large brown eyes and full dark lips_. He sighed again understanding the man's plight, for he had lost Selena as well. That had been years ago and the hurt ran just as deep he could only imagine what Ajihad was going through, now. With a heavy heart and screaming conscience, Brom reluctantly agreed to Ajihad's request and had hidden his 'secret' from his daughter for almost a month now._ He knew however that it would have caught up with him in the long run. He never anticipated however that it would caught up with him so soon.

Brom stared at the parchment before him again, remembering the call from the hospital but mere moments ago. The call itself had not shocked him, he had been expecting it. He had not expected it so soon however. It was simply too soon. Nasuada was merely settling in...how would she handle this now?

With an even heavier spirit he ruffled dark brown hair between his fingers hoping that some good would come out of all the depression.

-X-

Class could not have been described as successful. In fact it was utterly depressing: the way the teacher's carefree mood eminated through every student yet managed to evade her at every interval. Nasuada's anger has simmered into somber melancholy, as classes sweltered by the hour, yet time seemed lost to her. She seemed to drift through each session with little attention given to the teacher or the lesson. It was History now and she found herself staring at the girl at the front of the class. It was Arya, with her dark flowing hair caught up in a loose bun, her fairy like noise tipping slightly upwards as she gazed up at the teacher with thorough attention. For a while Nasuada observed her keenly, wishing a bit to be like her. Arya had the perfect life, straight a's, not to mention both parents who were successful. She had a brother, while Nasuada had no one. He was an asshole of a brother, but a sibling none the less. She frowned instinctively as Blodhgarm's image popped up before her. There was no denying it though, the two looked very much alike. It was so strange, that they resembled greatly yet were complete opposites. Blodhgarm was an arrogant, self obsessed ...Nasuada's teeth gritted as her mind suddenly filled with inconceivable obscenities. She rolled her eyes at no one in particular as the bell rang, signaling the end of the class. Arya on the other hand was a closed book completely unreadable. Somehow she preferred her that way. It was predictable the way she would react, cold, and detached. She liked knowing what to expect. It made things easier...more tolerable. It had not been that way with her mother when she died. It had all been too soon...just too soon...

It was English Literature now, but Nasuada did not notice not even when the whale like teacher entered the room greeting the class in his high pitched tone. It was not until her companion sat beside her that her mind ceased from its dazing and waltzed back to reality. Her grip on her blue ink pen suddenly tightened as the boy sat next to her, his dark red hair just in view. She did not know what to say to him...He was Murtagh's friend...she had just met him. It would have been best if she just keep her mouth shut. With that resolve she turned her attention back to the teacher, listening to him for the first time.

"Not in the talking mood huh..." Thorn murmured over to a surprised Nasuada. She withheld the emotion from her face however, keeping a steady countenance.

"Well you know psycho maniacs don't generally talk. They just attack people without reason." She turned to Thorn as she finished speaking, her face betraying slight anger.

His stilled into a tinge of guilt. "You heard what I said.."

"Well, incase you didn't realize you weren't whispering. And your brainless idiot of a friend has a rather loud mouth." she spat. Thorn retracted a bit at this. He then inched foward to her with a curious expression. Nasuada raised an eyebrow at the sudden gesture.

"What did you do to him? I've seen Murtagh act like that towards people...but he's never...never..." He sighed in frustration unable to find the right adjective.

Nasuada flinched at the question feeling that Thorn was blaming her. "I'm afraid your misdirecting this. What do you mean?"

"He's a complicated guy. Not even I understand him sometimes. It really takes something big to unnerve him however. And you my friend have done just that... He seems different around you. He's definitely different today. "

Nasuada's expression melted from one of rigidity to genuine curiosity. "What do you mean...different..?"

Thorn chuckled. "Hell your just as blind as him aren't you.."

"What?"

"Nothing...never mind." Thorn paused for a second as a bright expression enveloped him. Nasuada grimaced at it. It was the same she had seen Saphira sport when she had been staring at Murtagh in the corridor. The statement next was utterly inevitable.

"Nasuada...do you like him?" Sea green eyes were bright and equally wide as saucers. The girl's face crumpled.

"No. He's an asshole. And he isnt my type..."she murmured the last with venom, knowing it was a lie. She turned back to her work scribbling vigorously as the teacher dictated the notes.

Thorn merely shrugged his shoulders turning to his own notebook. "Well thats too bad...cause your his.."

Nasuada turned back to Thorn with a smirk expecting to see the same joking expression on his face. She was surprised however to see him completely serious...

-X-

There was something amiss. She could tell from the stares she was getting from everyone...well everyone except Murtagh. He was too busy staring at the floor. School had ended in the usual. There was loads of homework and a group project to begin with. She had spent her day thinking of what Thorn had said. Lunch had come and gone without amiss. She sat by Saphira's table instead and although they were rather friendly, she felt out of place and somewhat missed the dark haired youth glaring at her from the other end of the table. Her day had been normal. Regular, nothing in particular, well apart from the terrible incident in the morning, things had turned out ok however. Nasuada wondered if she had done anything wrong. She had been called to the Principal's office and that could not turn out well. Nasuada wondered if Brom had heard about the incident with Murtagh. Well, technically she didn't attack him. She frowned. Would she be suspended for that?

The wait in the the waiting room was terrible. The clock ticked with obscene loudness as silence stilled the white washed room. Three girls about her own age sat adjacent to one another. Neither of them said anything. They just stared. Stared at her...stared at Murtagh. He was standing in the far left corner leaning against the wall. Nasuada stared intently at the small pile of academic magazines before her, trying her best not to glance up at the young man. She glanced up towards the girls who were still staring. Their eyes diverted however her gaze met theirs. Nasuada frowned.

"Why are you staring at me?" the question was direct, her voice blanched. The girls merely turned away whispering to one another as their eyes glanced up at the both of them. This angered Nasuada even more as frustration from the wait got to her. It was then that she looked up at Murtagh. He was staring at her.

His face was stilled into his usual blank expression, yet his eyes held something. He wasn't looking through her. He was looking at her. Looking at the girl she was. Looking how scared and alone she felt. Nasuada flinched, gaze diverting to the old clock as Murtagh unmasked her for the vulnerable being she was. She scrunched lower into the seat as she saw him moving towards her in her peripheral view.

Nasuada cringed as he sat beside her blue eyes boring into her.

"I'm sorry."

The words were almost like a dream. They completely blew her out of her mind. Nasuada wondered if she had heard right. Murtagh...apologizing? That was almost unheard of. She turned to him with a troubled expression.

"Sorry for what...the sign you plastered on my back or about the fact that you used me, or the other fact that you insult me on any occassion that you get and embarrass me in front of everyone? Im not really sure Morzanson what your sorry for..." Nasuada expected him to smirk flinging up his wall of stoic character that he had molded so perfectly. His face did not change however. Haunting blue eyes continued to stare at her.

Unexpectedly the older boy grabbed her hand, slipping his fingers between hers. He murmured to her. "I'm sorry your gonna have to go through this...again..." Nasuada was too shocked at the gesture to even think about what he had said. It was then that Brom called.

"Miss Nightstalker, if you would please step into my office.." Reluctantly Nasuada left Murtagh behind walking in to what she thought was her own detriment. Well to some aspect it was. She was about to enter the most horrific time in her life.

The ebony skinned girl sat once more in the chair before the Principals desk. She noticed that the light peach curtains had been replaced by blue ones. Nasuada smiled a bit as she remembered Eragon's room was the same colour. Her gaze then turned to Brom as he cleared his throat.

"Nasuada.." he was about to begin when she cut him off.

"The thing with Murtagh wasn't that bad...I mean...I didn't touch him or anything. It was a simple conversation. A bit hostile but a conversation nonetheless." Her voice sounded desperate. Brom's formal expression twisted into bleak curiosity.

"What...?"

"Aren't you gonna talk about this morning in the hallway. Everybody is...the girls in the waiting room were staring at the both of us like we were some sort of insects or something. I mean yea...maybe I overreacted...a little...but..I think it was called for."

Brom put down the parchment in his left hand. His arms folding naturally. "I did hear about the incident in the hallway Nasuada, but I did not call you here because you overreacted to Murtagh kissing you." His face was blank. Nasuada looked shell shocked. Word was that she had nearly blown out because yet again Murtagh had insulted her intelligence. No one had known about the kiss. Well not except Murtagh and Eragon. Nasuada thought bleakly of how he had found out. Her mind then flickered back to Murtagh in the hallway. He had not been waiting to go in. He had _already gone _in... Her eyes widened. He had been waiting for _her._ She rolled her eyes realizing that it was _he_ who told Brom.

"What am I here for then..?" was all she could manage as she remembered how Murtagh had held her hand. It felt so unnatural for him to show care. Yet it felt great. She had missed that. Her father had been the one to hold her hand. But now he had gone back to New York where their apartment was hoping to find a job. She anticipated visiting him on Thanksgiving, merely weeks away. They would always spend the whole day in the kitchen together roasting the turkey. It was a tradition that had been ingrained within her. Thanksgiving would not be the same if they had not spent it like that. It would be different as they could not afford such lavish things as they once could, but it would be spent with him. And that was all that mattered.

"Nasuada, it's about your father."

Immediately the girl sat up face radiating panic. "Is he ok? Did he get caught in an accident or something?" Brom merely stared at her sighing heavilly. It was the same sigh that she had seen him do on his deceased wifes birthday. She had a bad feeling about it.

"You father hasn't been in any accident Nasuada." The young girl eased at this, allowing herself to relax. "He however is ill..." His voice trailed off as Nasuada spoke.

"Ah, dad gets ill alot sometimes. Something to do with the weather and his asthma. You know I got it from him..." Brom merely shook his head, sighing again staring at her with sad eyes.

"Your father has been ill for while now Nasuada. Its not asthma. I know he's told you that. Probably been lying to you for years now. Its actually Lung cancer...he's in his final stages now." Nasuada could not respond. It felt like Brom had been talking under water. Sound seemed to blur her in drones, yet his voice was perfectly clear. His words however confused her. She could not manage the words. She could barely manage to speak.

"Wh...wha..." She fumbled on as a heavy onslaught of disbelief barraged her. Yet there was truth in the elder man's eyes. Nasuada found herself staring on in confusion. "He's not..."

"Your father...he's dying, Nasuada." The words reverbated through her as she sat in the chair. Shock and disbelief were the main emotions dominating her mind, yet there was the lingering effects of grief. Her father had been ill...dying...and she had never known. He had never bothered to tell her.

* * *

Well, as you can see folks a bit of a filler episode. Sorry. Well the tension was evident between the two in the beginning of the chapter. I didn't want it to last too long though. I am happy though that I did actually include Arya, even if it was just a little. lol Hope you guys liked it nonetheless, despite its lateness and unspicyness. But this chapter is necessary for the future ones.


	8. Chapter 8: Common Ground

Well, hoesntly dont have much to say. Im having my Mock exams in Jan. Hope you guys all had lovely holidays as I did. And I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: just borrowing Paolini's toys, promise ill put 'em back.

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Chapter Eight

Common Ground

It was a numbness that enveloped her. She could not describe it, but she could feel it, eating silently away at her. It had been three days now. Three days since Brom had told her the news; Three days that she had been trapped in a blinding daze unable to speak, unable to think. It was too much..._just too much._

Two pairs of eyes watched her from the other end of the room. Another pair were too busy with staring ineptly at the phone directory set before them. They furrowed a bit under the intense concentration, straining without their much needed lenses.

They were in the living room, all of them. Brom was seated before the coffee table with a large telephone directory plopped ungracefully before him. He flicked through the pages lazily after intensely scanning each name. His two sons were seated beside him, both of them staring at Nasuada who was slumped in a lone sofa by the corner of the room. Her eyes were fixed on the blank screen of the television. Both of them grew uneasier by the second as they continued to watch her.

"You should talk to her..." the deep baritone hummed in an almost whisper. At this Eragon rolled his eyes and glanced over at Murtagh for a second with an annoyed look before fixing his gaze back to Nasuada again.

"And what should I say...Oh Nasuada don't be sad, lots of kids become _orphans_ at age fifteen!" He growled lowly, his voice almost muffling his words.

Murtagh's eyes narrowed at this. "You're her friend. You'll now what to say...plus its unnerving watching her like that. It seems almost inhuman to sit like that for so long." He growled equally annoyed back at Eragon who was twisting uneasily in his seat. "Besides, I have stuff to do...you _don't._." At this the older sibling got up from the couch and walked towards the dining room motioning to Eragon to go over to Nasuada. He then disappeared into the other room, dark hair flashing about him.

Eragon grit his teeth and sighed, easing himself from beside his brother. Ruffling his hair a bit in nervousness, he slowly trotted over to towards the statue like figure.

"Hey Nas..." Eragon murmured to the girl as he knelt down towards her. She made no sign on life whatsoever, her gaze remained fixed on the blank screen before her. Eragon frowned at this, resting a palm on her arm. He felt her flinch and his frown deepened, yet he knew it was a start.

"Nasuada you've barely eaten anything...Aren't you hungry?" this statement earned a kind glare from the brown haired girl. Eragon could only smile and gently eased himself on the edge of the small sofa. Nasuada's face had twisted from a blank stare to a mere look of contemplation. With a hesitant tone she turned to Eragon resting her arm against his.

"How long..." she murmured to him, her voice blank of emotion. Eragon's face creased in confusion.

"What do you mean? How long for what?" He leaned over her, curiosity still evident in his eyes.

"How long am I going to feel this way..." she murmured bleakly as if to no one. At this a pained expression filled Eragon's face. He didn't know the answer to that, for his mother's death haunted him even now.

"I..." Another sigh. "I don't know Nasuada. I wish I did, but I really don't."

At this Nasuada stared back at the television screen again, seemingly enveloped in her own world. "Well, that's too bad..." She murmured. The dark skinned girl then unexpectedly rose from her seat, and stepped away from the sofa, quick steps leading her to the entrance of the dining room which led into the kitchen. Eragon stumbled off the arm of the sofa and bounded after her in surprise.

"Where are you going..?" He yelled after her when she girl slipped around the corner. She then stopped for a moment and turned towards her friend who had managed to catch up with her. "I need..." a pause as her shoulders slumped. " some time...alone..." She murmured before slipping into the kitchen and through the back door.

Eragon could only stare after her in understanding and sympathy. He knew well that he had been fortunate. He still had his father, he still had support and care. He still had Murtagh, though who was honestly sometimes a pain in the ass, was in fact a very good older brother. With lumbering steps he walked lengthily back towards the living room where his father was still seated back bent over the coffee table. Before him the phone directory lay closed now, the cover tattered from constant misuse. The elder man was bent forward his palms spread across his face in frustration. Eragon did not envy his father whatsoever.

"Couldn't find him?" Brom looked up as his son slumped into the sofa beside him. He turned to him, hands falling from his face. Eragon noted bleakly that under his eyes were darkened from lack of sleep.

"Actually I did..." Brom slumped back into the sofa, pushing the phone directory away with his foot. "The hospital said he's only got a few days left..." Brom turned to look at his son who had the perfect image of horror written all over his face. Brom could only sigh. "There's worse news too Eragon." His son's countenance fell even further as Brom continued. "I'm not sure that we'll be able to keep Nasuada after all."

-X-

Lilies, chrysanthemums, anthuriums, Nasuada could only name a few plants there, yet this did not bother her. She was too enveloped in the chaos of her mind to notice them anyway. She stood dejectedly in the thick lawn of the garden she had seen below the balcony of her bedroom. Clad in a white shorts and a similarly coloured t-shirt she glanced lazily towards the dark coloured pond as the heat from the afternoon sun clouded over her. Inside however, she felt as cold as ice.

_"Daddy promise to never leave me..." she was twelve years old again, a pair of barbie pajamas hung loosely from her small frame. Another nightmare had sent her running to her father's room. She sprung up on the bed beside him, clutching to his arm for dear life. Her eyes were wide with fear; her cheeks stained with fresh tears.  
_

_Ajihad held her close to him, shifting over so his tiny daughter could curl up beside him. He gazed down at her with a pained smile. "I'll never leave you Nasuada...I promise..." He held her even closer whispering it to her again as she slowly drifted off to sleep in his arms. He glanced towards the night table where a picture of his wife stared back. It pained him so, Nasuada looked so much like her mother.  
_

Umber eyes furrowed with unknown pain. She felt the ache clutch deep within the depths of her insides, she felt her heart rip to shreds. Nasuada slumped forward legs buckling, soon finding her kneeling in the grass, fingers digging into umber flesh to ease the heart ache wrenching her from within. For a moment, she wailed, silently, mouth open in agony, no sound pouring forth however, only her face creased in pain, while silent tears leaked down her cheeks. _He had lied to her, her own father had lied to her for so many years. He promised he would always be there...but he lied. He would die...just like her mother had. He would leave her alone...she would be all alone..._

_"Dad are you ok?" Her eyes forrowed with worry as the older man continued to hack unceasingly, eyes now turning red, watering profusely. Upon brief relief, Ajihad inhaled deeply, grabbing his ventolin inhaler in the same movement. He took two deep draughts of it, coughing lightly as the smoke mixed with his medication. Nasuada all the while stood rigid as her father rested the medication unto the table, whilst in his other hand the cigar was still lit, thick black smoke emanating from its bright orange end. _

_"Dad, you need to stop that. It isn't healthy...and you have asmtha for heaven's sakes!" She scolded as she had been doing for the past god knows when. Her frowned, half jesting. "One of these days your gonna kill yourself."_

_Ajihad merely glanced at her, mouth set open as if about to reveal something. "Nasuada, I..." he stopped. His daughter turned to him once more, eyes turning away from the television. "You were saying something dad?" her eyes glanced back to the yellow sponge that had begun squeaking to his pink starfish friend. _

_"Nothing, dear...watch your cartoon. It was nothing..."_

He had known. He had known for so long and he had never told her. This realization sent her reeling forward and Nasuada found herself falling towards the dark water of the pond before her. Eyes widened and mouth set open into a scream as she tumbled closer and closer to the dark water. It was cut short however when a pair of hands grabbed her from behind, pulling her up.

She fell unto the grass breathing sharply as utter confusion enveloped her. She felt overwhelmed altogether. She found no words to speak only sharp gasps as the shock of falling had not yet dulled over. She could only manage to look up towards the person who had prevented her from being soaked in the no doubtedly freezing water. Nasuada was not surprised to see Murtagh figure standing tall above her. She was surprised however to see the object held in his hands. He knelt beside her, easing himself unto the thick grass.

"My mom made it for me, when I was a baby." He handed the large teddy bear to her. "Maybe it'll do you some good." He propped up his legs as he sat beside her eyes staring out into the dark water of the garden pond. She stared at the stuffed toy he had set in her hands. It was a large teddy bear, a powdery blue one at that, with a polka dot bow tie and large buttons for eyes. It was a bit old and worn, but Murtagh had handed it to her with utter reverence. She then stared out into the water with him, and silence stilled the time as neither of them spoke. It was about five minutes past when words were at last exchanged.

"I like it...thanks..." Murtagh turned to Nasuada a bit surprised that she had actually said something. He noted she wore a crooked smile, her eyes were sorely pained however. He smiled lightly realizing she was making an effort, because of the gesture.

"You do...?" He smirked a bit. "Mom wasn't the best of crafts women, but she could make a few things." he paused as he glanced back towards the house. "If you'd like, maybe I could show you some of them..."

Her face slumped into her real mood. Her eyes drooped. "Maybe another day..." she held the bear closer, while heaving a rather loud sigh. Murtagh ruffled his dark hair at this, folding his legs as she had. The next few minutes were rewarded with silence.

"...Your mom...what was she like?" Nasuada murmured to Murtagh over the stillness of the garden. He smiled at this gently easing himself wholly unto the lush grass. Nasuada followed in suit, laying next to him. The clouds gazed down upon them shielding them from the cruelty of the afternoon sun. The was a hushed peace and it was few seconds well 'till Murtagh spoke at last.

"Well, honestly...though it pains me to say this.." Nasuada could hint slight humour in his voice. Murtagh however did not look at her, his gaze was fixed towards the blue skies, his face utterly serious. "She was a lot like you." he finished at last, this time he looked at her. Nasuada glared as she realized he was only pulling her leg...again. This was evident in his sudden devilish smirk. She could only roll her eyes at him however.

There was a sigh."She was nothing like you Nasuada." his voice had become grave. "Perhaps if she had been, even a little maybe she would have lived. Maybe she would have had the guts to stand up for herself...maybe..."

He sighed sharply and Nasuada could feel the emotion in each word that poured forth. She found herself leaning towards him somehow knowing that he understood every hurt, and agony that had been ripping her apart as well. There was silence again, yet it was not peaceful, it was utterly painful, heart rending even. For the first time Nasuada saw Murtagh; the Murtagh who had been hurt and abused, the Murtagh who hid behind a well fortressed mask of nonchalance and stoic pretensions...the Murtagh who was alone, hurting, just as she was. They were despite their obvious differences they alike...so _painfully_ alike.

She found herself staring at him and him at her, and the silence etched on. One could not tell how long they stared at one another; Both of them frozen in thorough observation. Both of them seeing each other vulnerable and naked. Murtagh turned away, unable to look anymore as dark umber eyes continued to bore into him. Unfathomable emotions that had lay hidden for so long resurfaced and he found himself panicking...

"I...should be going, now..." he half gulped as he attempted to ease himself up from the grassy lawn. He froze however when a warm hand grasped his. Murtagh stood up and Nasuada with him, her hand still grasping his. With a hesistant tone she muddled on before finally looking up to him a rather calm expression stilling her face; this turned into a tiny smile."I think I would like to see your mother's work now...". Murtagh couldn't manage to smile as she had, but he grasped her hand tighter, murmuring softly. " Brom was right, my mother would've loved you..."

-X-

There was a bit of surprise when Eragon saw them next. Murtagh could tell from the way he continued to stare at him and Nasuada as they passed throughout the living room once more. Brom had gone to purchase some groceries at the supermarket, but Eragon knew he wouldn't be back for a while, he would no doubtedly stop by Miss Corvalls house who just _happened_ to be only a block away from the grocery store.

For a second Eragon expected the two who seemed to be in a tolerable mood, to sit beside him in the large couch, but they had walked on ahead, bounding up the main stairs and into the second hallway. Being utterly curious as to their purpose, he found himself silently creeping up the stairs after them. Eragon was not one to spy or eavesdrop on people, but he could not help himself in this situation. It was utterly strange, almost supernatural for the two to be walking with one another, in a seemingly calm and good natured conversation, for the only times he had seen them together it had been when they were clawing out nasty insults at one another while armed with deadly glares and tightened fists. (well apart from the time he saw them kissing...that thought still scarred him greatly). He recalled once having to grab Nasuada by the waste to prevent her from strangling an unaware Murtagh...he wondered what could have happened to change their relationship all together. He planned to find out...

Quiet, and rather careful steps brought him to the plain of the staircase. Murtagh and Nasuada were just above him...He strained to listen to their hushed voices.

"There it is...the great big happy family.." The sarcasm in Murtagh's voice could be plainly heard. For a moment Eragon wondered at what he had been talking about. He then remembered the painting on the wall near the second staircase. He stood rigidly a bit in disbelief...Murtagh was showing him his family.

"Wow..." Nasuada's voice was lightened significantly. "You were so cute...almost human looking in fact." she chortled in large jest. "Whatever happened?"

Murtagh merely 'humphed'. Eragon could hear the humour radiating from him as well.

"Your mother was really pretty though, looked nothing like you..."

"Yea Eragon got all the charming good looks from her, blond hair, brown eyes and everything, including his rather annoying habit of being my conscience." Nasuada laughed at the comment and a listening Eragon frowned.

"Is that your..." Nasuada's voice was hesitant.

"Father?" Murtagh completed calmly. His voice had stilled in a tinge of frigidity. The humor had left his voice rather suddenly. "Yea, that's him."

Nasuada stared at the painting, at the smoky gray blue eyes of Morzan, his perfectly chiseled features and the dark, raven hair that was slicked perfectly down his neck. He was stunningly handsome. His eyes stared back at her, they was no hatred in them strangely. They were almost kind even; yet mysterious and utterly secretive. She felt the hair up her back prickle as she thought of how much son and father looked alike. For a moment, Nasuada wondered if Murtagh was mistaken; was this the man who had stabbed his son...murdered his wife? She found it hard to believe.

"He looks ju.." she stopped herself from murmuring her inner thoughts. Murtagh however had caught on. His jaw tensed.

"He looks just like me, I know." Nasuada could tell the tension in his voice. She felt herself flush.

"I didn't mean anything by.."

"Its fine." His tone was abrupt. Murtagh stared up at the painting again. His voice had significantly blanched. He stood rigidly beside her.

"Murtagh..." her voice had simmered to a murmur. He turned to her, eyes glazed, earnestly searching hers. She retracted finding no words to say. His look scared her, it was filled with such desperation. Few seconds past. His face grew cold and Nasuada found him turning back towards the painting. She could see the hurt in his eyes, the hatred. She found her hands slipping into his again. She smiled lightly as she felt his hand squeeze hers gently.

"You're nothing like him." She said at last, staring at the painting once more. All of a sudden those eyes did not look so honest and kind, the calm face now appeared frigid. Father and son did look alike at first glance, but they were completely different men.

"How so?..."

"Because despite of the bad ass attitude you try to portray, deep down your a fairly nice guy." Murtagh could only laugh.

* * *

Yea I know the ending is a bit abrupt, but didn't want this to be too long. The scene will continue in the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed it none the less, and the welcomed change of them not ripping off one another's heads. Please R & R!


	9. Chapter 9 Soft Kisses in the Rain

Ok, don't murder me people. My computer died a quick and resonating death...I waited practically a whole year scrounging and saving to buy a new one...and I finally got it!... Hurray update!

I do apologize for being away for so long. The fact that I got my laptop so close to exams either didn't really help. I had to put writing on hold so I could study. It's the middle of my exams now and I had about a weeks break until my next one. So I decided to write.

It pained me to see reviews coming in while I was unable to update anything. I have had time however to think about my story and its plot and read and re-read things and cringe at how I wrote in the earlier months! (particularly at my first story...TTH)

Note: I apologize as this will not be continuing exactly where I left off as promised. In consolation I have tried to make this chapter awesome in its own right by delving into Murtagh's psyche even more and its result on the relationship between him and Nasuada.

Summary: _It has been three days since he had shown her his family, since he took a chance and exposed himself to her. Now, he's reaping the consequences... As Murtagh and Nasuada grow, it seems Murtagh begins to lose himself. Result? Even **more** heartache and confusion._

Disclaimer: If I'd owned the Inheritance Cycle I wouldn't be poor and wait for almost a year to replace my computer!

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Chapter Nine

Soft Kisses in the Rain Only Bring Pain (I)

_The zesty scent of cut grass blended with the earthy fragrance of wet soil, complimenting the somber mood brought with the rain. Thunder rolled lowly in the distance like the grumble of an elderly man at disturbance of his peace by younger ignorants. It's call was soft yet seemingly warned of the onslaught of wind and rain that would later occur with the pending storm. There was a silence between them. It hung comfortably for a few moments as both took in the soothing sound of the heavy pounding of raindrops against the roof of the parked vehicle. The Morzanson Manor stood before them, a blurred colossus through the view of the rain washed windshield._

_They sat there in the front, frozen in reflection, eyes glued to the windscreen watching the heavy downpour around them. A slight chill laced the air inside the car and Nasuada shivered instinctively wrapping herself with the navy blue cardigan she had worn to school that day. Beside her Murtagh seemed untethered seemingly enveloped in too deep a thought to notice the sudden drop in temperature. He did notice however the sudden feeling of warmth on his hand which he had rested on the gear stick. Blue eyes gazed down at slender dark fingers which had entwined with his own, and slowly light pink lips pulled into a soft smile. He then glanced up at Nasuada, but her gaze was still set on the heavy rain streaming off the windshield. Still gazing at the worsening weather her voice murmured softly through the drumming of raindrops, "Looks like Eragon made the right move going inside earlier…"_

_There was a hum of a laugh from Murtagh as his eyes remained fixed on her figure, the humour not reflected in them. At her own statement, Nasuada turned towards him hands ever so slightly pressing harder against his. There was something reflected in her big brown eyes, something Murtagh had truly seen for the first time. It was the faintest hint of happiness that had been doused with thorough uncertainty, and even dared hope. The smile that had remained etched faintly on his lips died upon this, and hints of fear and guilt settled in ice blue eyes. Unsettled he turned back towards the stormy scene that had enraptured them before. He could not find the solace in the bleak weather however that had comforted him only moments ago. Upon this, defeat glazed over stony features and slowly Murtagh turned back towards Nasuada who had all the while been observing him. She was silent however seemingly waiting for some sort of response to what she had said._

_"The only smart thing I can honestly say he's done all day…" Murtagh's response was late and his tone, faintly blanched. It was not filled with its usual candor and cynicism. It sounded somewhat weighed, perhaps by laden conscience. Nasuada smirked suddenly at his statement seemingly not noticing the heavy tone his voice had adopted and slowly she began to pull her fingers from his. Pale hands however did not let go but pulled her hand back towards him. Eyes widened a bit in surprise while dark lips curled in thorough satisfaction as pink lips pressed gently against her hand. There was a heaving sigh afterward however and a pained look evident in light blue eyes. At this, hints of both apprehension and concern began creeping upon feminine features. Full lips parted about to speak when they were interrupted by sudden gesture. Those same lips that had pressed gently across dark knuckles bruised by younger years of violence now pressed softly against a deep brown cheek. They rested there for an endless second, lost in tender moment. Nasuada felt her cheeks burn in sudden flush as she closed her eyes, savoring the moment. They slowly opened when he had pulled away only to widen when she found him merely inches away from her._

_ He was staring at her intently, eyes reflecting inner turmoil. As Nasuada found herself gazing into stormy blue eyes, she inhaled sharply. The same exciting sense of panic gripped her again and heart began to thud loudly in chest. She felt herself flush as mind inevitably flashed back to their first encounter in the kitchen when he had kissed her senseless. And despite the ending result then, there was growing anticipation now when faced with similar situation._

_He leaned in closer. Her heart raced even faster. Her breath stopped as their noses touched ever so slightly; and strangely dark lips itched for the feeling of pink ones against them. There were no sordid smirks or cynical grins or even words, only clouded desire evident in the glazed look that shadowed both their eyes. The uncomfortable inch between them dissipated as pink lips brushed ever so lightly against full dark ones. They lingered for a heart stopping moment... then all too suddenly, pulled away._

_There was confusion as Nasuada opened her eyes head still reeling from blinding hormones, to find Murtagh seated again at the farther end of the car. She frowned noting the troubled expression etched across handsome features. Then brown eyes widened in memory. Murtagh had asked her to stay behind with him for a bit to talk. She had not thought anything of it before but now she began to get a bad feeling about it._

_"Is there something wrong...?" her voice had gone strangely low, almost to a whisper, yet she bravely held his gaze. She felt her stomach sink in bleak anticipation as he uttered another heaved sigh. Blue eyes turned painfully away from her to glare at the steering wheel as he leaned further into the driver's seat. He then murmured something that she could not hear. Nasuada clutched uncomfortably at her blue cardigan. Her mouth had gone suddenly dry._

_"Murtagh...what is it?" Dark hand reached out to grasp his own. At warm touch however Murtagh retracted as if burned by the gesture; he removed his hand to rest it on the steering wheel further away from her. Nasuada felt like she had been stabbed in the gut._

_"This..." he said louder, still not facing her. He then whispered. "...I can't do it..."_

_There was a silent pause. "What do you mean?" Her voice had lowered even more taking on a cracked tone. There was hurt still evident in the way her face crinkled involuntarily at him as he continued to avoid her gaze._

_"Murtagh..." no response. "Murtagh...!" her voice almost screamed in whisper as she grasped his shoulder. He flashed suddenly at her, blue eyes glaring wildly, but Nasuada did not retract. "Look at me." She said firmly but lowly. Murtagh unwillingly turned to her._

_"What do you mean...you can't do this?" Brown eyes bore into him and Murtagh visibly squirmed._

_Pink lips parted as if in speech then suddenly clamped shut. Murtagh's face twisted with frustration and he slammed an alabaster palm against the steering wheel, igniting the sudden blaring of the car horn. Nasuada flinched at the sudden violence. She remained silent however, waiting for him to calm down. He turned to her again, face contorted as if in agony, shook his head, then swung the car door open and jumped out into the pouring rain._

_. . ._

_It was like ice. Each rain drop like an icicle stabbing against her skin; hundreds of them raining down like silver bullets against her. Nasuada nearly yelped as each heavy rain stung through the navy blue cardigan into her uniform as she ran out of the car after him. She had stumbled in chase, blinded by the searing rain until he had suddenly stopped, and stood slumped like a man defeated before the towering Manor. Murtagh stood before her, soaked to his skin in icy rain water. His head was bent, black hair plastered across piercing blue eyes that stared through her. He was blubbering, murmuring something she could not hear. Gut clenched at the sight of him as she lumbered towards him._

_"Murtagh..." She had to scream through the torrential rain. The wind had picked up and now whipped and howled around them, making each drop sting even more._

_He shook his head, eyes glancing wildly at her, face set in icy expression. "I can't...not with you. I can't Nasuada...I tried, but it just keeps coming back...I just-can't." Trembling lips had turned blue from cold. And in that moment Nasuada felt the chill to her very bone._

_There was drenched silence, and only the ripping rain tearing in its manic howl through the cold air. Nasuada found herself silent, confusion and hurt choking her._

_"Is it me...?" she finally murmured to him. Brown eyes had become vulnerable, wounds of betrayal from father still fresh. She thought she had found a friend, a confidant in Murtagh, or perhaps even something more. Now, he was hurting her...why was he hurting her, pushing her away, when all she needed was someone...?_

_Murtagh did not glance up at her. Familiar anger sprung up in frigid veins and there was a cold detached look that stilled the dark features of her face at his silence. She nodded in bitter comprehension as old feelings suddenly returned. She never really had anyone. It had all been a false sense of hope; a trap she had allowed herself to fall into...served her right for trusting anyone in the first place._

_"Yea its me. It's always me..."' her voice with laced with bitterness. "Me the fool for thinking someone like you could ever really care." Her tone was frigid as she turned to walk away from him. The wind howled like a dying man gasping for breath._

_"It's me!" Nasuada turned to an angry Murtagh._

_ "It's my f*d up life and you're only making it worse." His low, ragged tone seared like a hot brand. Brown eyes narrowed at him despite the tearing rain._

_"It's me ...and its you." his voice softened significantly." You don't really know me - and I don't want you to..." He stumbled closer to her, blue eyes piercing at her hollow face. "If I continue like this...with you...all those years of- " he paused tension evident in clenched jaw. He continued with a tentative tone. _

_"They would have been for nothing," He murmured the last before turning and slowly walking away towards the Manor. " and then I'll be left even **more** broken..."_

-X-

_**...Earlier that day...**  
_

Sweat clung to his trembling body as he suddenly jolted out of slumber. Hands clenched to his chest as both heart and breathing raced inhumanly. Eyes pulped wide as the darkness of the room met him. _'It was a dream, only a dream'_ the thought reverberated throughout him like a mantra. Its effect however brought only futility as heart remained set in rabid motion, muscles clenched rigidly as he gasped for air...for _reality.._.

The still shadow of the room swallowed him whole; the only light, a sliver of the faded moon shone bleakly though the window catching the contours of panic stricken flesh. Murtagh slumped against the bedhead, fear and pain resonating strongly throughout him. The scar on his back stung incessantly, but that he could bare. It was the face...the face that had haunted him, the face that he had started to forget that brought him squirming, screaming in his sleep that he could not. _His_ face, forever imprinted upon him, a curse he could never outlive.

Sighing deeply as his heart gradually slowed to its normal rate, Murtagh propped himself up against the side of his bed and glared into the darkness fully aware that sleep had left him..._again_.

-X-

The thought of her father still procured hurt and anger, but strangely it was Murtagh who had helped it gradually fade in intensity. Somber face had gradually lightened a bit, and even dared smile in memory of the evening three days before when he had dared to open himself up to her. Nasuada knew that it had been extremely difficult for him; how hurtful it must have been. Yet she had reveled in seeing him like that...the _real_ him without the stoic facade or sordid smirks...just Murtagh...

_"So this is the room?" Nasuada murmured in slight awe as Murtagh grasped her hand to lead her through the darkness. Belatedly the sound of a struck match could be heard and soon soft amber light slithered through the thick dark, illuminating the large space. Brown eyes widened even further. They had never seen such beauty.  
_

_The largest bay windows she had ever seen graced the west wing of the room. Adorned with golden curtains that were draped almost reverently to its sides had the room been empty, its presence alone would have yet captured her amazement. In delay, brown eyes slowly lingered towards the rest of the bedroom. If possible they would have widened even further. _

_The bed was huge...humongous, **massive**. It could hold up to eight people comfortably and eleven if they didn't mind being squished a bit. The king size bed sat upon a small perch in the centre of the bedroom with amber toned spreads that were elaborately garnished with cinnamon toned pillows, burnt orange cushions and elegant lace drapes. The soft glow of amber light from lit candle shades gave the room an even more ethereal atmosphere. The mahogany floor shimmered like liquid as she slowly stepped further into the room._

_"This was your parents' room?" Her voice had taken on the awe that was reflected upon her face._

_Murtagh nodded, the sallow facade of a smile that he had worn for so long sunk into a look of pained nostalgia. "Yea, this is where it all began..."_

_. . .  
_

Gentle smile stilled upon full dark lips as mind settled with the memory of his hand entwined with hers. Since that encounter, their relationship had changed visibly, even Eragon had noticed. Nasuada smirked as she thought of how confused his face had been when he saw them peacefully conversing afterward in her room. She yawned mid-smile flinging the covers to the other side of the bed, and ever so slowly crawled out of it.

The thought of school today strangely was not as bad as it usually was. Perhaps it was the fact that the holidays were a few days away or perhaps it was her way of escape, a place where she would forget about the turmoils of her own life...or perhaps it was the weather. Bleak, windy days tended to make her feel calmer. There were faint memories associated with them of chasing across the thick green lawn of a house once inhabited, of dark brown arms scooping her up and a feminine laugh filling the air along side her childish one. There was a soft sigh as brown legs dangled from the highly perched bed when eyes caught sight of the picture by the night stand. Stroking the face of mother and father she then hopped out of bed and lengthily tiptoed towards the glass bay windows overlooking the garden.

The morning was a cold one. Mahogany toned fingers gently rubbed away the light mist that had settled on the glass windows during the night. Brown eyes blinked at the sight of the thick fog nestled delicately among the various shrubs and unbloomed flowers in the garden below. In the midst of it was the pond. The pond itself was invisible however, covered in a thick white that she could not see through.

Lips curved into a gentle smile. This reminded her so much of their very first home, of a life that she had long forgotten, of a mother she tried so hard to remember. There was a deep lingering sense of nostalgia here in the Bromson's home. Brown eyes narrowed as she suddenly frowned. _'This isn't really home...' _she thought slowly. _'Home is with...' _ thought lingered to that of her father, and familiar hurt began to resurface. Fingers that had rested calmly along the frosty glass windows curled into a tightened fist. She inhaled deeply attempting to keep back tears that already began stinging her eyes.

"Wakey wakey!" Nasuada jolted suddenly in surprise as a voice unexpectedly rang out from the other side of her bedroom door. It was abruptly followed by sharp, hurried knocking. Shunning bleak thoughts of dying father that had settled in mind, she turned and walked quickly towards it.

"Eragon?" Nasuada looked slightly disappointed as she opened the door to find him there with the silliest grin plastered on his face. Hazel eyes however narrowed in suspicion at her tone.

"Were you expecting someone else?" his tone was oddly blanched as smile dissipated. Eyes narrowed further, as he glanced her up and down. They then widened, settling on her figure. Face then crinkled with humour.

"Nasuada, what on _god's green earth_ are you wearing?"

At Eragon's laughing she then looked down at herself. Eyes suddenly flitted with humour as well and she unexpectedly burst into laughter.

It was an ugly pink barbie pajama top that obviously did not fit anymore. It was stretched rather proudly across her rounded chest. Barbie's face followed in kind and had been horizontaly distorted from years of misuse. The sleeves which she had outgrown as well, had been stretched beyond limit and the material visibly frayed at the seams. The slack pajama bottoms that she wore were in much better condition and looked newly purchased in comparison to the worn top.

With humoured grin, Nasuada shrugged laughing. "What you don't like it?" She pointed to barbie's discoloured face, chortling with sarcasm. "She's my idol."

Eragon chuckled "I can see that. You resemble greatly."

He then snickered "How long have you been wearing that thing? You must have been sneaking it in secret. I would definitely remember seeing **_that_**!"

At this Nasuada's grin suddenly dissipated. Humour was unexpectedly replaced with a bewildered look that Eragon had not expected. He stood frozen, bewildered as well at the sudden negative reaction and was thoroughly uncertain how to proceed.

"I've worn it since I was seven..." the vibrancy in her voice had died, and was replaced by a pallid tone. "It was a Christmas present from my dad...I couldn't bring myself to throw it out..." she paused as if about to continue then shook her head suddenly and gazed back at Eragon straining to regain a lightened mood.

"So..." she began, suddenly adopting an unusually high pitched voice. It then lowered to its usual intonation. "What was all the excitement about. Aren't we supposed to be getting ready for school?"

"There's no school today...there's a storm coming!" Tension was discarded almost immediately as he donned yet again his ridiculously happy tone. Instead of mirrored grin however Nasuada was confused.

"No school today? Is that what your dad said...?"

"NO!" a familiar voice rang out from the corridor. It sounded slightly irritated no doubtedly by Eragon's over excitement. Nasuada further opened her door to see Murtagh walking down the hallway towards them. Nasuada frowned lightly at his already dressed figure.

"Then why is Murtagh dressed already?"

"Cause I'm smart." was the blank comment. " Plus, the weather channel said that the storm is coming later on in the night into tomorrow. So, there's bound to be school." His voice was laced with the 'no duh' tone as he came over to lean against wall beside them. Nasuada smiled awkwardly at Murtagh as he stared at her thoroughly, eyes lingering to her chest were Barbie grinned boldly like an idiot. Blue eyes made their way down gradually deciphering the rest of her disheveled appearance then made their way up towards her own brown ones.

"Sexy." was the sarcastic comment that followed his staring. The devil like smirk afterward only highlighted his tone. Despite herself Nasuada could not help but smile at him as well while rolling her eyes in mock annoyance. It was in thorough opposition to reaction she would have taken absent their encounter before. They had grown somewhat since then. Somehow dislike had thinned significantly, and had left them with growing curiosity...tolerance and an undecipherable attraction to one another. They continued to glance lightly at each another while Eragon in delayed reaction began to get heated about Murtagh's earlier statement.

Eragon looked thoroughly annoyed as he retorted. "I'm telling you we're not going to school!"

-X-

"You're going to school." Eragon looked thoroughly abashed at Brom's blank statement. They had all gathered in the kitchen for breakfast when he had appeared suddenly at the kitchen door still wearing pajamas.

"But...you're not even dressed!" Eragon practically yelled in thinning composure and growing desperation. There was an annoyed sigh from his father, and a reasonable snicker from an older brother.

"Oh shut up!" Murtagh snickered further at his heated younger brother. Eragon grew even more embarrassed and annoyed.

"But dad..."

"No buts your going to school and that's that." his tone was firm as he rummaged through the refrigerator for a minute before procuring a box of milk. He shuffled with the cereal box that had been left on the counter before huffing in annoyance.

"Don't tell me you guys ate **all** the cereal." he glanced piercingly at all three of them who had turned to avoid his gaze in guilt. "God I swear you lot are like caterpillars." He put down the box and turned towards the refrigerator again to search for something else to eat.

"But Brom what about the incoming storm...?" Nasuada suggested. She like a reasonable person had taken a shower and changed into her uniform, yet Eragon, the stubborn being he was had refused to accept the possibility of school and so had refused to get ready.

The Principal pursed his lips for a moment before turning to the dark skinned girl. "I've already taken the day off, the Vice Principal is in charge, but I'll call and inform him that school will be kept for only half day, so that families can properly prepare."

"You've taken the day off?" for the first time since the discussion Murtagh had addressed Brom.

Barely glancing his way, Brom continued to shuffle with the various breakfast items he had procured from the refrigerator. "Yes." was the blank reply. There was no further clarification on the matter. Nasuada slightly nervous, glanced at Murtagh whose eyes had slightly narrowed at his step father, yet there was little tension. Rather there was a settled understanding between them. Brom did not wish to disclose his reasons and it would have been left at that.

"Wait, who's going to take us to school then?" Nasuada glanced curiously at Brom who had been pouring a glass of orange juice for himself. Instead of answering he merely glanced at Murtagh who had gotten up from his stool by the breakfast counter to grab his belongings from the table.

"That would be me." Nasuada turned around in surprise at the dark haired boy who proceeded to grab the keys from the kitchen counter beside Brom .

"You?" A look of disbelief had settled on her features.

"Well crap!" Nasuada turned a huffing Eragon, who had slipped off his own stool shaking his head. "We're all gonna die...!"

-X-

Sadly to say Eragon had been right. Nasuada found herself flying out of the car, landing firmly on hands and knees as the vehicle came at last to a screeching halt in the school's parking lot. She stayed gasping, grounded upon the warm asphalt for a good minute before daring to get up. The look of terror still lingered in wide umber eyes as she staggered in attempt to stand. Upon this, the world spun before her as if she were still moving at_ death_ speed and she stumbled backwards, falling to ground again on her bum. A moderate groan could be heard thereafter.

Eragon who had somehow managed to stay in the car, looked like he had gotten a heart attack as he came stumbling out of the vehicle beside her. Hazel eyes seemed permanently bulged from sockets as he collapsed to the ground, seemingly too dazed to speak. Belatedly the sound of the driver's door could be heard opening, and a calm and collective Murtagh carefully stepped out. Lightly glancing their way, he smirked a bit, then reached into the vehicle again for his school bag before closing the door behind him. The gentle click of the alarm could be heard as it activated and Murtagh threw them their own belongings from the trunk of the vehicle. Arms folded, he watched as they struggled to get up from the dusty ground, face radiating thorough satisfaction.

"Next time don't harass me about making it on time." he warned a flustered Eragon, before grasping Nasuada's shoulder and helping her to stand firmly. Beside her Eragon grumbled, glaring begrudgingly at his brother as he grasped the bonnet of the car for support to stand. Face still showing hostility he then glanced at Nasuada, mouth opened as if in intent to speak. Lips clamped shut however after a second, face twisting into a look of contemplation. He gazed at her for a moment silently, but as she stepped towards him he merely turned away and teetered off from them to walk towards the main entrance.

"Someone's Pms-ing..." Murtagh murmured lowly to himself in humour as Nasuada continued to gaze on at her friend, her expression visibly dazed. The comment earned a punch in the shoulder.

"Ow" Murtagh rubbed his shoulder, glancing at Nasuada in offense. He hadn't thought she would've heard.

The playful mean snicker that slithered through pink lips was retort enough.

"You would think someone with such good grades would have more sense than that to say something like that to a woman." She huffed, voice rigid, yet eyes betrayed opposite stance. She glanced back towards Eragon who had slowly made his way up towards the main entrance alone. She then frowned.

"You should go easier on him though Murtagh..." She mumbled, voice gotten oddly solemn. Her gaze was still fixed upon her friend, she continued in thought. "He's been acting strangely recently...something's probably wrong..."

-X-

Nasuada remembered her own words to Murtagh as she strolled into the classroom. What she had thought would have been an ordinary day had rather early gotten stranger by the minute. Brom had unexpectedly missed school although it was obvious he was not ill in any way;Nasuada didn't even know that Murtagh could drive, much more so recklessly; And Eragon... Thoughts lingered to that of her blond haired friend and how strangely he had been acting of late as she scurried down the main hallway. It was the first session of the day and despite Murtagh's ridiculous speeding on the road, she knew that she was late. She anticipated Miss Ives nonchalant glance when she presented herself in the middle of Chemistry session. The slight grin on Nasuada's face died however when she finally entered the science lab and glanced up towards the teacher's station.

"Happy you decided to present yourself Miss...?" A _male_ voice paused in expectancy and still in shock Nasuada stumbled over her own words before procuring her last name.

"Nightstalker..." she murmured, voice mimicking the surprise evident on her face. She visibly squirmed under the scrutinizing gaze of the young male teacher.

"Hm...Nightstalker..." Green eyes widened a bit as if in memory, but then quickly resorted to their piercing stare. "I hope that this is not a frequent practice of yours, Miss Nightstalker."

Swallowing harshly, Nasuada murmured a 'no', then dared to ask. " What happened to Miss Ives?"

"Miss Ives has taken a leave of absence. I'll be replacing her for this term." The rigidity in the teacher's voice had died significantly. He motioned for her to take a seat in her respective area, and turned back towards the chemical equation that he had previously written on the whiteboard. Nasuada hurriedly teetered to her seat beside her lab partner. Slipping quietly unto her stool, she quickly rummaged through her school bag for her textbook.

"And Miss Nightstalker," Surprised at her name being called again, Nasuada glanced up towards the young male teacher, who had turned to face her. "Be late for my class again, and earn yourself a detention."

Nasuada felt her face flush with thorough embarrassment as she nodded slowly; in that moment she thanked the gods who made her skin this dark. Face betraying only thorough anxiety, she returned to searching her bag even more frantically than before. Belatedly in relief, she procured a large Chemistry text book and plopped it unto the table. The ungraceful sound echoed across the classroom causing a sudden hush. The young teacher whipped his head around in almost milliseconds eyes narrowed in an almost predatory gaze, searching for the culprit who had interrupted his thought. Green eyes meeting her wide frightened brown ones, he froze for a moment, locked in a cold glare, then unexpectedly eyes softened as he shook his head at her in slight humour, then returned to his writing.

There was relief in Nasuada's eyes as she turned towards Eragon who had been her lab partner since the beginning of the school year. She noted him, hunched boredly upon his stool, eyes visibly glazed as he stared at a page in his text book. To the untrained eye he would appear deeply enveloped in his notes. Nasuada however knew better, it was a trick she had learned from an early age.

"I missed the intro...Who is he...?" Brown eyes shifted towards the front to the male teacher who Nasuada deemed too young for his post. Sand blond hair, green eyes ,dark framed glasses, and fidgeting peach tone lips were all she could make out from their brief encounter. And she wondered if Eragon knew anymore as he had managed to make it to class before her.

There was no response however and thinking he had not heard, she leaned over and nudged him. Nasuada almost retracted immediately as hazel eyes glanced up to glare warningly at her.

"Why don't you ask him." the suggestion was more of a sharp toned statement and confused, Nasuada stayed silent for a moment. In silence however confusion soon turned to angry annoyance.

"It was a simple bloody question.." she hissed at him quietly so no one else would hear. "I don't know what the _hell _ has been up with you of late, but if you have a problem deal with it, and stop throwing the hissy moods at me.."

Eragon visibly caved at this, and soon returned to the subdued demeanour that he had adopted after their car ride in the morning. The angry gaze on Nasuada's face did not fade however.

"It's you..." he whispered over to her after glancing up at the whiteboard making certain that the teacher's gaze was averted elsewhere. "It's Murtagh too..."

"You two are different now." he paused "I know it sounds silly but ..You've gotten so close, so _fast_, that I don't even know where I fit in anymore." The annoyed expression on Nasuada's face had suddenly sunk into silent bewilderment as he continued.

"You two, spend all your time together now..." he paused about to continue when he made sudden pronouncement. "-Nasuada, you...are my only friend." the smile on his face was almost crooked, as he turned towards his book again. "I guess lately, the past three days just felt like old times, where there was no one...where I was ..._alone._"

The way he said '_alone' _mimicked thorough dejection, and for a moment Nasuada fell awfully silent. She had never known that Eragon had ever felt this way. She had always assumed that he was great friends with everyone. Nasuada sighed silently to herself, face sinking as she realized that she assumed _a lot. _

_'Alone' _the word lingered with her. It had haunted her for so long, being alone. She remembered how alone she felt in military school, when her mother died, when her father had sent her here by herself... when she found herself absent her scholarship... when she found out her father was dying. Alone...Eragon glanced up in surprised as Nasuada unexpectedly grabbed his hand from the table and pressed her fingers into his. The look on her face was word enough...he wouldn't be alone anymore as long as she was there.

. . .

The bell for the end of the session had rung and Nasuada was relieved to say the least. After Eragon had spoken to her, the new teacher gave so much notes, she thought her hand would fall off. The whole class seemed to share her sentiment as well as many practically 'hurrayed' when the session ended. The nameless young teacher had taken it in good stride however, and rather in humoured tone had laughed a bit, then proceeded to give them even more homework. At which, delightful celebration had quickly turned into solid groaning.

After noting the assignment down in her notebook, like Eragon she quickly stuffed both her remaining books into her bag, slung it halfway unto her back and bustled through the crowd of students towards the exit door by the teacher's desk. Hand on Eragon's shoulder, mid chat, she was about to step through the door when a voice called her back.

"Uhm...Miss Nightstalker..." Nasuada turned around mid-sentence to face who had called to her. Brown eyes widened a bit as she saw that it was her new teacher. Noting his beckoning hand, she motioned to Eragon that she would see him in their next session together, and ever so slowly walked over towards the teacher's desk as the rest of the class emptied.

The moment was in the least to say awkward. The young teacher who Nasuada honestly thought looked too close to their own age to hold such position, had waited until all the last students had left the classroom. A good five minutes passed as he had even patiently waited for the two stragglers, giddy girls who obviously in the short space of thirty five minutes_(a session)_, had managed to develop a school girl crush on him, to saunter through the classroom door. Nasuada glanced at them in slight irritation at their frivolous waving and childish giggles as they finally left the room. She then turned back towards the nameless teacher and quickly teetered over to his table, where he stood quietly.

"Uhm, what's going on Sir?" her tone was curious. She could not fathom any reason why she would be called to stay behind. She then felt her stomach freeze. _'Did this have something to do with her being late?'_ the thought made her frown.

"Is something wrong...?" she noted the deep tone of his voice, as she fidgeted before him.

"Well, sir...You called me out of the whole class, and I'm not even sure why..." She cautiously murmured unsure of what his reaction might be. To her surprise he merely laughed.

"Gods, Nasuada you are truly clueless...!" He straightened himself as a strange expression crossed the dark skinned girl's face at the sudden informal tone he had adopted. Her eyes then widened upon realizing that he had called her by her first name; a name which she had never given.

"It's me..." he said, yanking the quirky glasses from his face and placing them on the oak wood table. He then rustled his sand blond hair from its pinned slicked back state to fan messily in his face. Sand blond hair lay in a fluffy mess of dramatic waves and springy curls. Nasuada noted the light freckles that circled just about his left cheek, his deeply tanned skin and dark green eyes that epitomized summer. Wait..._summer_...

Disbelief left her dumb struck.

"Orrin!" She gasped in mimicked tone. Brown eyes had settled on wide as circles as she continued to gawk at him. The huge grin never left his face.

"What has it been like, seven years?" Hair flashed about him as arms flayed in gesticulation. He was cut off however in mid excitement when Nasuada suddenly embraced him in a tight hug.

She gasped. "I ...I can't believe its really you." The wide grin on Orrin's face had gradually sombered to a smile and allowing a few moments in embrace, he finally and rather awkwardly pulled away.

"Can't be caught being too close to students...you know...school policy. Wouldn't want to get fired." She smiled back at him allowing him fair distance.

"What the hell are you doing here anyway?" she poked at him accusingly. "Weren't you going to be some grand chemical engineer or something...?"

"I am." He smirked at her. "I'm just taking a year's break from studies and thought this would be a good way to spend my time..."

Nasuada nodded, thoroughly impressed. She then interjected suddenly.

"Orrin, where the hell have you been? The last time I saw you, I was eight...! How in god's name did you expect me to recognize you, you've grown so much!" she laughed, resting her school bag unto his desk. Slight grin still etched into peach toned lips, he eased himself unto the desk beside her.

"I could say the same about you..." he glanced her up and down slowly, contemplation written on his features. "The last time I saw you, we were on a beach in California, making sand castles and collecting shells while our parents drank mojitos and drawled over business."

A smile of nostalgia stilled Nasuada's face as the memory of that summer washed over her. Unconsciously she had placed herself beside Orrin and now sat on the desk next to him.

"Speaking of parents...How's your mom? dad?"

Nasuada's face shrunk at this question and had settled on to its usual blank state as it did whenever her parents were mentioned. "My mom's dead." she stated plainly. The shock reverberated from Orrin's face to his speech.

"Jesus..!" he swore. "When?"

"Four years after that summer, when I was twelve."

There was a sharp sigh, and genuine sympathy. "Nasuada, I'm sorry I didn't know. If my family had, I'm sure we would have come to the funeral."

Nasuada merely nodded. She had heard all the stories, all the excuses already. She didn't care anymore, it was too long ago for her to care.

"So..." he began more hesitantly. "How's your dad?"

"Fine." Nasuada lied, a faint fake smile stilling her face.

The light in Orrin's face was recaptured, and he chortled. "Well, that's great!" he paused. "Maybe we could all meet up some time, my parent's come down every weekend from their villa to '_check up' _on how I'm doing..." the frown on his face mimicked just how pathetic he thought it was.

"Still stifling you I see..." Nasuada joked.

"Oh, you have no idea..." he moaned, gathering his things from the table. At this realization hit the girl and she quickly grabbed her belongings as well.

"Well, good catching up. I'll see around?" He waved to her as she neared the door.

"Yeah...around...Mr. Larkin..." she smiled back and slithered on to her next class.

* * *

Well, guys another chapter of Highschool. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this, and yes this will definitely be continuing from where I left off. Hope everything was clear to everyone. For those who weren't here's a brief over look.

Three days have passed since the last chapter where Murtagh let Nasuada into another part of his life. There is a brief flash back of this. Note: Flashbacks of this will continue in the next chapter to come.

The whole episode is a flashback, after the result of the day is described in the beginning with Murtagh and Nasuada in the rain.

Brom takes the day off from work for some unstated reason, and so Murtagh drives, rather recklessly to school. Nasuada, late, meets up on a new teacher who turns out to be an old childhood friend, Orrin Larkin.

Well, hope you guys liked it. If your still interested feel free to read and review.

-S.B.


	10. Chapter 10: Soft Kisses in the Rain II

Thanks to all those guys who reviewed. Special thanks to Restrained Freedom and Brightwatcher, you guys have been totally awesome, and were actually the first ones to review! Thank you guys for all your support. Restrained Freedom you are certainly observant, and this chapter will be expanding more upon the reasons for Murtagh's pulling away. To everyone else who reviewed your pretty damn awesome too!

**Brief note for those who read my other story: The Thirsty Hibiscus (TTH).**

**I have, after deep deliberation, made up my mind to scrap the original story. I realize that it was written out of sheer, blind and childish glee when I first joined this website. After literally reading every Nasuada, Murtagh fanfiction there was on this website at the time, I was so overly enthralled...that I just _had, _to write something. I did have a rather loose plot there...And so out of sheer respect of myself as both a writer and a_ reader_, I could not continue on such a treacherous path (ie. writing such frivolous, unplanned, eye-soring ...*insert expletive here*)... And yes I just used Eyesore as a verb. *ahem*...anyway. . .**

**I do apologize to those who were in fact looking forward to more. Note: I am NOT scrapping the story completely. I am simply, replotting, rewriting, reorganizing and all that shazam. I am in the process of organizing everything right now, and have actually posted the prologue and two other chapters. So, for anyone still interested, I would totally appreciate it if you check it out. I have put my all into this one, having grown as a writer. **

As promised this chapter continues right from where I left off. And don't worry it will indeed live up what was stated in the previous chapter to explore and hopefully clarify the reasons why Murtagh behaved the way he did in the previous chapter.

Note: This chapter is in fact a flashback recounting the day – continuing from Chapter 9 – and also has periods of flashbacks within itself of the encounter between Nasuada and Murtagh in the 'Golden Room' three days prior - mentioned also in Chapter 9 (this is the place he takes her to when he offered to show her his mother's things). The present - the scene in the rain is concluded at the end of this Chapter - showing the sum up of the day.

Also note: This is the LONGEST chapter of Highschool and Its Problems so far at 9000 odd words. Please bear with me here...There are several POV's and all that so things aren't boring. Enjoy!

**This chapter is dedicated to Restrained Freedom and Brightwatcher who have stuck by me with this fic and reviewed consistently. Hope you guys like it...!**

**oh and to BrightWatcher...Roran will be coming further down in the story.  
**

Wrote this listening to: Last to Know, and No More - Three Days Grace for anyone who cares.

Well, here is goes guys.

* * *

Chapter Ten

Kisses in the Rain Only Bring Pain II

**. . ._Three Days Earlier. ._**_ ._

_Deep brown eyes gazed into his attentively and for a moment there was hesitation. He had kept this locked away from his present life for so long, even he had forgotten what it had been like. He stared at it for a moment, heavy in his hands. The grainy texture of the aged leather at his fingertips made it seem like some aged artifact that they had discovered hidden under the wooden panel of the giant bed. Inhaling bravely, pale fingers then carefully brushed away the film of dust and cobwebs that had made home upon the worn leather cover. And ever so carefully, he opened it. _

_Murtagh had long imagined what he had looked like as a child…the memories that he had long repressed…long forgotten._

_A day at the beach…_

_His mother's belly swollen with him, smiling, happy with an ice-cream cone in hand- the silver sun reflected in bright hazel eyes. _

_And then, he saw him. It was a lone picture, a close up, a rare shot of a genuine smile. It was awful seeing him happy as if capable of such **human** emotion… It was awful how the two looked so alike. Frosty blue eyes, hair blacker than midnight, light pink lips that curled in smirking mischief, tall... stately...Murtagh looked away, he could not bear anymore. He shoved the book into dark feminine hands and crawled unto the mahogany floors, breathing sharply._

_A moment later, a darker presence joined him. Ebony skin almost as rich as the polished floors shone with the soft amber light of the lit candles. Nasuada slid down from her seat upon the bed to sit next to him on the floor. In her hand was the dreaded book...the dreaded book of memories. _

_He could not look. He thought that he was ready...that he could do this for her. She needed it ...or maybe it was more for him. Perhaps some sick part of him had but for a moment longed for the darkness that he had tried to escape for so many years...the darkness of his past. Blue eyes stilled to the floors as head sunk, black hair falling to shadow their gaze. They then widened, as a warm feminine body pressed against his shoulder. Sighing sharply to himself, Murtagh rested his head against Nasuada's own which she had leaned against his shoulder._

_"I'm sorry." her voice was appropriately soft, even though they were all alone._

_He turned to her in curiosity at her statement. "Sorry? For what..?"_

_"I shouldn't have..." she paused, turning to gaze up at him. "...allowed you to do this to yourself." Eyes then glanced back towards the photo album in her hand. She leaned forward, falling on her knees, and slowly rose from her stance, book in hand. Murtagh grasped her free hand and Nasuada turned back towards him._

_"What are you doing?"_

_A somber look had crossed her features. "Putting it away. . ."_

_"No..." he interjected, tugging on her arm for her to sit again. Belatedly she complied._

_A surprised Nasuada turned to Murtagh as he told her to "Open it.."_

_"Murtagh are you sure...?" Umber eyes looked uncertain._

_"No."_

_. . ._

_-X-_

Light brown eyes gazed at their surroundings boredly, and ever so often glanced at his watch. It was afternoon, the sun was high, yet the air was strangely chilled, and the sun's warmth unfelt. There was not one cloud in the sky and gazing upwards, Brom wondered to himself if there was truly a storm on the way. Glancing back at his watch he then sighed to himself, and shifted uncomfortably upon the stone bench.

Brom had never skipped school before…He remembered in the midst of a roasting fever, he had literally crawled out of bed and dragged himself to work. There was a pang of guilt as he thought of it…he wasn't even _sick_. Yet he stilled himself with reasoned thought. This was different…This was _important_.

He had asked to meet at the park, a place mutually convenient to them both; in truth however, Brom did not wish such a dark presence to be at his home. He did not truly know this man...did not know what he was capable of. They had conversed a few times by telephone and even once by email, yet had yet to meet in person. As Brom sat there alone on the bench, autumn leaves whipping through the air, he wondered to himself if this had been a good idea after all.

Eyes perked up as he saw a figure coming up the trail, and suddenly a strange anxiousness enveloped him. He remembered his words to his son in the living room, right after Nasuada had stalked out of the room silently dealing with the dreaded news of her father. _"I'm not sure that we'll be able to keep Nasuada after all." (AN: Chapter 8 for anyone who doesn't remember!)_

He remembered the lost look in his son's eyes afterward. The same one he had seen him sport whenever he mentioned his mother. Nasuada had become a part of their lives; if they lost her…Eragon would be devastated.

The man's face looked aged and haggard as such thoughts whirled constantly in mind. The figure had gotten closer up the trail and he could now see the dark ebony skin, thick curly hair and large almond eyes that they shared. His face fell at this. He had been hoping that it had been a lie. But this, there was no denying it, indeed the two looked very much alike.

"Assalamu alaikum…" Brom jolted from thought as the Islamic greeting poured from full, dark masculine lips. He paused a bit at the extended ebony hand, then belatedly shook it. The dark man sat beside him upon the bench.

"Brom, I believe…" The ebony man's voice was strangely calm, a bit raspy, yet did not hold the richness that Nasuada's had. Her voice was a little deep for a girls but he had learned to like it, it was unique, it was her,….it was _her_. Dear god, he wouldn't hear that voice again if this man got his way! The thought was bitter in his stomach.

"…Fadawar." Brom nodded, his voice laced with a tinge of hostility. The dark man turned to him, an almost devil smile carved into his lips.

"Nasuada belongs with me." Brom stated plainly getting straight to the point. His face had stilled in that same Principal authority that scared children and staff alike shitless when faced with it. This man however seemed unperturbed.

"I am her cousin…Her mother's, brother's child…Her only living relative." Was the dark reply.

"Half Brother…" Brom corrected thoroughly annoyed. " and Ajihad is not dead yet…" he stated coldly.

"But he will be…_soon_." Brom flinched at the truth of the stranger's words. Light brown eyes gazed into frozen black ones.

"Speaking of Ajihad, has she seen him as yet…?"The awful smile remained and Brom felt a surge of guilt up his spine.

"He does not wish to see her…" he murmured quietly. He then continued in thought. _"He does not even know that I told her that he was ill…"_

"Ajihad, told me to take care of her. That promise does not end upon his death." Brom then stated aloud folding his arms at his chest as if challenging the stranger.

He then frowned upon Fadawar's sudden laugh. "_Family._" He stated. "Family should take her of her, not a stranger. Family always wins, Brom. Are you willing to test it?" The slender man stood up, the orange leaves at his feet complimented the deep woody brown of his complexion.

"Nasuada has never met you…she doesn't even know you. What do you want with her anyway?" Brom almost spat. "She's at home here. She knows my family. She knows me...!"

"Blood is thicker than water, Brom." Came the calm, frigid reply. "Assalamu alaikum…I think I'll stay a little_ longer_ in this town of yours…" the words drifted through the wind as the dark man quickly slithered away from him. Brom sighed, head falling in frustration; this had not gone well at all.

-X-

A permanent grin was etched into the dark features of Nasuada's face as she remembered Orrin Larkin. Seeing him was like some miracle. She remembered him that summer, she eight, him twelve. They had known each other since before she was even old enough to talk. Orrin had been her playmate of sorts, the one constant in her life that she was bound to see every summer. Their parents had been business partners, but rather personal ones. Dinners, Concerts, Vacations, they spent them all together. She laughed inwardly, remembering the roundness of his face, the deep freckles and large round, ridiculous glasses that he had obviously all grew out of. The curly mass of sand blond hair remained however, and Nasuada thought it fitting as if it mimicked the eccentric personality of his that she had loved as a child.

For so long she had locked away that part of her life, deeming it dead, she had even forgotten about it...forgotten how lovely it had been. Orrin represented that light period of her life. With his sudden presence, it was like some god out there was sending her a sign. Perhaps...just perhaps... everything would turn out o.k. For the first time since the news she thought of her father and smiled.

"Someone's quite happy with herself." Nasuada snapped out of gleaming thought as a familiar voice echoed to her in the corridor. A more awkward smile returned as she realized that it was Thorn. School bag nowhere in sight, he sauntered over to her in the middle of the lonely hallway, red hair glinting from the fractured sunlight streaming from the window. Nasuada visibly fidgeted with her clothes as she waited for him to walk over.

"I was just...thinking that's all..." she murmured vaguely, grin fading to a temperate smile.

"What class are you _sculling_ now?" She continued, snorting in laugh. Thorn's grin remained through obvious scoff.

"I don't scull classes…can't afford to." His face had stilled in calm. "Math teacher's called in sick today, so I have a free session right now."

"You?"

"Swimming…truancy's not my thing, either. I'm just late..." she murmured, clutching a little closer to her orange school bag.

She then smiled. "You know, today feels like a good day..."

"Yeah?" a playful smirk tugged at his lips. "What makes you say that..._woman's _intuition?"

"I dunno..." she chuckled a bit to herself, mind fleeting back to her childhood friend. "I just have that feeling." she shrugged as they began walking together. The gentle tap of their footsteps echoed on through the empty hallway as a moment of silence stilled between them.

"Hey Thorn..." The red head turned to her. Nasuada hesitated a moment in thought before continuing.

"What was Murtagh like…when he was younger I mean. I know that you too have been friends for a very long time."

A sudden seriousness crossed the teenagers face before he spoke. "He was…._damaged_." The three words left Nasuada silent. And Thorn turned to her returning a question of his own.

"Why do you ask…?" His tone held genuine curiosity. Nasuada avoided it however, instead turning attention to present situation.

"This is my class….I have to go."

Thorn merely nodded at her, curiosity etched across his face, yet he did not question her again. Instead he waved goodbye, watching her form as she slithered into the pool area. Sea green eyes blinked as he saw a spunky blond haired girl practically bound up to her smacking her playfully on the bum. Thorn smirked as he heard Nasuada squeal in protest, and the blond laughing, streaks of deep blue gleaming in her hair.

"Damn your butt's big!" she exclaimed, still laughing. Nasuada made a face at her, and fanned her off.

"Leave my bottom alone…" she squealed as Saphira made to smack her again. The ebony skin girl ran, bounding for the security of the changing rooms further inward, while her spunky friend followed, scooting after her and yelling about the size of her butt.

Thorn couldn't help but laugh to himself at the two. They reminded him so much of Murtagh and himself, well expect the girly squealing and butt smacking…that would never ever…**_ever_ **happen. It was the sort of intimate relationship that they shared that appealed to him. He had been with Murtagh since as long as he could remember. His father had worked for Morzan for almost fifteen years, until that terrible night when they had taken him away.

Thorn had been four, but he could still remember the whirring siren of the police cars; Morzan eyes bloodshot and red. He remembered him stinking of hard whisky, screaming, cursing and struggling like a mad man against the five police officers dragging him through the door. He remembered his father's tall frame slumped in grief and shock... mirrored deep red hair flashing as he shook his head endlessly. He could still remember the small unconscious body of his friend bathed in his own blood being wheeled out by running paramedics. He still remembered the blaring light, the screaming, the chaos…

Sea green eyes were glazed over as they stared into the pool stadium. They were glazed with memories, memories that he doubted Murtagh could recall anymore… Memories that he shared. _He_ still remembered... while Murtagh had spent all his remaining years, trying to forget, trying to erase what happened. And in a way, he had succeeded. He wouldn't doubt it if Murtagh could not recall one single thing that happened that night.

There was a soft sigh, as Thorn leaned against the opened entrance to the pool. A hopeful smile had stilled his face. Perhaps Nasuada was right. Perhaps of all days... this would be a good one. . .

A sudden noise, one of a smashed locker interrupted thought. Surprised, Thorn turned towards it. The sound of muffled voices enticed his attention. They were rough, one almost growling at the other which had been laced with venomous persistence. Curiosity getting the better of him, he silently tiptoed towards the corner where the two were conversing. He leaned in closer, then eyes widened as he realized that he _knew_ those voices…

-X-

Saphira had kept her promise and had in secret been helping Nasuada learn how to swim. Improvement could be visibly seen, no longer was she clawing at the water for dear life, but rather had settled on to more gentler approach upon learning how to tread on her own. Soon after, Saphira had taught her the 'free style' and the 'back stroke', and Nasuada had admittedly caught on fast. She saw the blond haired girl grin at her with sharp teeth as she swam ..a bit awkwardly towards her on the pool's ledge. It was their swimming session of the day.

"How's it going dragon girl...?" Nasuada beamed up at her quite proud of herself as she finally made it over.

"Dragon girl?" Saphira questioned eyebrow propped in curiosity.

"Yea, I saw the tattoo on your back." Nasuada said before pulling herself out of the pool to sit beside her.

Saphira's face almost pulped at this as she hissed in warning. "Yea talk any louder and get me suspended!" She then leaned closer to a seated Nasuada, murmuring. "Student's aren't supposed to have tattoo's here..."

"You don't say..." Nasuada chortled in sarcasm, thoroughly enjoying her paranoid reaction to her statement. Saphira had even began glancing around suspiciously as if there were invisible people listening to their conversation.

"Dude...calm down. No one heard." she laughed as she stood and grabbed her towel from one of the benches. Saphira followed in kind standing beside her.

"Easy for you to say, you don't know just how _impeccable_ the hearing of some of these air heads are." she quipped, planting herself on the bench beside her.

A comfortable silence stilled between them.

"Well that topic aside..." She began again twining one of her blue highlights between her fingers. "Have you noticed how boring class has become. "

Plopping herself down beside her, Nasuada's brow creased in curiosity. "How do you mean..?"

"I mean, the guys aren't even wolf whistling at girl's anymore. There's no drama, no love triangles, no raunchy gossip, ...no pregnancies ...no _nothing_..."

Nasuada jolted. "Pregnancies!"

Saphira merely shrugged her off. "What? it could happen here...! You know..._one_ day..."

Her statement earned a small laugh and a shake of the head. "In such a strict Private school like Varden High, I doubt that Saphira..."

Another comfortable silence stilled between them as each girl was left to the strange world of her own mind. Nasuada held her towel and began drying the mass of fluffy curls on her head. She knew that she would have to put some products in it before it began frizzing and wondered anxiously to herself if she had remembered them.

"Well, would you look at that..." Saphira visibly sat up in her seat suddenly as dark blue eyes lingered towards the other side of the pool. Nasuada continued to dry her hair absentmindedly, not noting the interested tone her voice had adopted.

"Nasuada…" Saphira nudged her, eyes glued to a slender figure walking towards them. The girl merely grunted in reply, mind enveloped in its own world.

"Uh…Nasuada…" she nudged her harder, catching her in the ribs and Nasuada groaned in protest.

"What is it?" her tone had gotten sharp.

"Nauda…Nasuda…Whatever your name is, get up!" a sharp familiar feminine tone hounded at her. And in that moment Nasuada knew it was not Saphira who had called her this time. When she did finally glance up she was not in the least surprised to see Elva standing before her. Umber eyes immediately capturing their typical defensive nature, she slowly rose from her seat beside her friend, and stepped towards the dark haired girl.

"And you are?" Nasuada said as equally loudly. She smirked inwardly hearing Saphira's snickering behind her.

There was a soft growl from cherry red lips, and Nasuada's devilish smirk only managed to fuel Elva's displeasure. "You damn well know who I am. Let's stop playing games...Its about you and Murtagh. We need to talk." Her voice had gone seriously low, and slowly Nasuada began to sober up.

"Follow me." Elva turned to walk towards the empty bleachers towards the head of the pool. Barely glancing at Saphira, Nasuada teetered up behind her. There was a permanent frown etched in full dark lips...she had a feeling the day wouldn't be as wonderful as she thought it would be after all.

. . .

_(AN: for anyone who's confused this is actually a flashback to three days before, just like in the beginning. *whispered tone* Ok. I'm gonna shut up now and disappear so you can continue reading…enjoy!)_

_Her smile enraptured him. It had been worth it somewhat…seeing **him** again. Blue eyes continued to gaze at her smile; the small flicker of light in umber eyes that he had not seen since she had heard about her father. And strangely, he found himself smiling back. Brown eyes turned away from his to glance at the picture again, and inevitably another smile sprung forth. _

_"I love this picture…" her voice was low, yet laced with sincerity. After slight contemplation the two had migrated from their spot on the smoothed floors unto the large bed; and had been there for almost two hours now, skimming through the large photo album. Thankfully there were very few pictures of his father, most were of his mother and himself. Belatedly, Murtagh glanced at the picture again, his smile dissipating to a thin contemplative line. In all honesty, it was like looking at someone else. He had been afraid, afraid of revisiting the past…afraid of remembering, but now faced with the snapshots of those memories, he could find...feel nothing. Nothing…. it did not unnerve him as it ought to have. _

_Ebony toned fingers smoothed across the thin plastic that kept the picture of four year old Murtagh undamaged. Nasuada continued to grin at how adorable he looked. His hair had been much shorter then and bright blue eyes stared innocently back at hers. He had a frightened look, like a deer caught in the headlights, and some cruel person had dressed him in a mimicked costume…a reindeer. With a brown skin suit, tiny antlers and a nose painted bright red, Nasuada forced herself to choke back a laugh. _

_"Rudolph?" she snickered softly as she gazed up at Murtagh again. It was strange how staring at the memories of another had made her pain lessen somewhat...or perhaps, perhaps it was knowing that of all people, he had showed them to **her**. The soft golden spreads crumpled beneath her, as she shifted unto her side to face him. Murtagh who lay beside her, merely cocked an eyebrow at her, a hint of a smile teasing light pink lips. Ivory toned fingers brushed against the same picture and unto her own and Nasuada turned away from him to gaze at them. _

_"Murtagh…." Her voice had gone to a whisper as she began shaking her head. _

_"Don't…" he began, mimicking the whispered tone that she had adopted. "Don't say anything…not yet."_

_Nasuada almost flinched when the hand that had rested on her own, reached up to brush against her cheek. She turned towards him, breath stopping in her chest. She felt her cheek flush as his fingers ever so slowly slipped to brush against her full lips. There was a look in his eye, a strange one, it was not quite the lust-filled one that she had seen him sport before. This one was different…._

_He leaned towards her as if to kiss her, but Nasuada had turned away. A sudden tightness seized her chest, and a terrible sinking feeling enveloped her. Brown eyes gazed at the album at her finger tips, then lingered to the bed spread beneath her. _

_"How much money are you going to make _this_ time…?" her tone was not sharp or rigid, but rather held the gentleness that she had maintained through their conversation thus far. The memory of the bet or Murtagh's mocking of her afterward had not yet completely faded from mind, or from heart for that matter._

_There was a sigh, a heaving one. Murtagh slumped midnight toned hair shadowing his face. His hand had retracted from her, and now clutched to the bed spread beneath them. _

_"Nasuada…" she did not turn to him._

_"I understand…" she said instead, her vulnerability still fresh from her father's news. "It was a bet. I get it…but…don't –" she paused abruptly. She glanced back at him, lingering disappointment in her eyes. "_don't_ do it again." She suddenly eased herself up into a sitting position and turned towards the edge of the bed, her back towards him._

_"Nas-" He called her by the name he had heard Eragon use, opening his mouth to explain. Nothing poured forth._

_"It's ok." she breathed, umber eyes settling upon him once more._

_"I didn't expect you to really mean it anyway…I'm not your_ type_, remember?" She wore a plastic smile as she slipped off the bed, repeating the same words he had said to her that first night in her room. Bending to find her shoes, she heard him slip off as well. _

_Not finding her shoes where she had left them, Nasuada stood up, frustration getting the better of already tethered emotions. She closed her eyes inhaling sharply as sudden choking sensation gripped her. Her father was **dying**...dying somewhere far away, and he didn't even want her to know...he didn't want her to be there- to hold his hand. For so many years they had been the only ones in each other's lives...There was..- there _would be_ no one else..And he was going to just leave her in the dark -unaware and oblivious…and parentless._

_And Murtagh, Nasuada did not know what to feel about him. His opal behaviour had her thoroughly confused. At one hand he behaved like a complete ass who embarrassed and insulted her purposefully all the time, and on the other he could be so sensitive, caring, like the only person who truly understood what she going through. Apart from her father, she had never felt such strong emotions for anyone else before... It scared her._

_A sudden sigh escaped dark lips as she could feel tears forming behind closed lids. She could not afford to lose control now, not here...not in front of him. Forcing surfacing emotion deeper inwards, after few seconds the dreaded feeling passed. And assured that she had gained control, she slowly opened her eyes. _

_Nasuada was admittedly surprised to see Murtagh right in front of her. For a moment she had thought he had slipped off the bed to place the album back under the bed panels where they had found it. She gazed at him for a second in silence, the residue of buried hurt hidden in her eyes. There was an undecipherable look in his._

_In unexpected movement he bounded towards her suddenly and pinned her shoulder first, to the wall. A sudden fear gripped her then and her breath drew ragged as she was forced to gaze into sharp blueness of his eyes. His body was pressed firmly against her own so she could not move. His face..his lips were only centimetres from hers and Nasuada felt as if those eyes pierced to her very core. She couldn't look away...she _dared_ not look away. As she stood there eyes locked with ice blue ones, emotion held her, rather it **seized** her. And suddenly Nasuada found herself slumped in the 'strangers' arms. She shivered as it racked her - the tears, the hurt, the pain...the fucking irony. Some devil out there had fated her to this crap, to be orphaned at fifteen. It was like cancer had it out for her himself. Perhaps it would come for her next, unawares, and reunite her with relatives lost. Strangely, the thought did not comfort._

_Ivory hands released her from pin hold to the wall and Nasuada slunk fully into Murtagh's arms. He held her there, silently as her face buried in his chest, her body shaking in rhythmic heaves of sorrow. Nasuada had not cried openly since she was twelve years old - at her mother's grave. She had kept everything locked up inside, channeling her grief into anger for so many years - afraid to grieve...afraid to be weak, for her father – for herself. Gods know how long Murtagh held her there, tightly, chin nuzzled in the short thick curly hair on her head...silent. In silence he understood...in silence, he comforted._

_"Murtagh..." she sighed finally, tears and shaking subsided. She had suddenly become aware of how close he held her. Easing her face from his chest, she gazed up at him eyes puffy, cheeks stained with tears. He gazed down at her, his eyes unreadable._

_"I meant it." he murmured belatedly. Her face twisted in confusion._

_"Meant what?"_

_There was a soft smile that stilled over light pink lips, as ivory toned fingers brushed the remaining tears from her cheeks. Nasuada did not flinch at his touch then. She did not turn away when he leaned in again, kissing her lightly on the cheek. He slowly pulled away, face settled but an inch from her own. Noses touched ever so slightly. The heat from his body mingled with her own as the warmth of his breath nipped her. Umber eyes closed, as his lips gently brushed against hers. And for a moment she allowed herself to forget the anger and hurt she felt at her father._

_Murtagh's hand around her clutched her closer as firm lips melted into her own. Nasuada sunk into the warm embrace, hand gripped tightly to his shirt as she kissed him back even harder than he had ever expected. Murtagh almost flinched as sharp white teeth nipped him lightly on the lip, her tongue sliding into his mouth when he had dared protest. Blue eyes slowly lidded at this, arm sliding to the small of her back. Hands dared roam her body, as he slowly backed her against the wall again._

_Nasuada gasped as lips moved to caress her neck. She had never done this before. Murtagh had been the first boy she had ever kissed...the first boy that dared touch her._

_A sudden heat enveloped her as his hands moved rather skilfully from her back to her chest. And for the first time Nasuada heard herself moan. The sound took her a back, and quickly fear enraptured her._

_"Murtagh.." her tone held the same fear, and sensing it, kisses ceased and blue eyes settled to gaze into her own. Hands retracted respectfully, and he just stared at her, a look of understanding settled into his features. Fingers brushed against her fluffy curly hair however, and leaning forward again he pressed his lips against her forehead. When he released her, he found her mouth uncontrollably pulled into a smile. _

_"I thought you said I wasn't your type..." her tone was whispered, breathy. She sported the same teasing look he gave Eragon countless of times._

_Blue eyes narrowed at her, as a faint teasing smile stilled his face. "Your not."_

_Nasuada's face then rippled with appreciation and a funny expression crossed his face at the sudden change._

_"Thank you..." she murmured to him, as they slowly separated._

_"For showing me the album that your mother made..." she continued. A look of comprehension crossed his features._

_"Don't mention it." he nodded at her, mouth pulled in his usual playful smirk. Stepping backwards, he then slunk back unto the bed. Turning away from her, he grasped the handmade album which had been abandoned beside him. He then turned towards her again, a serious expression dominating his features._

_"I really mean it Nasuada...don't mention it. Brom, doesn't know that I come up here, much more that I hid this album under the bed panels so many years ago. He's tried to keep this room 'secret' from Eragon and myself. It's the only remnant of some memory of my mother..." he sighed, tension in his voice. " He dumped everything else. Apart from the portrait in the hall, there's nothing else left." he paused in thought as Nasuada's face reverberated shock. _

_"... I doubt that Eragon even knows if this room exists."_

_"Wouldn't he know about the house's original master bedroom?" she questioned, the disturbed look settling on her features._

_"Brom, doesn't mention much to him." he stated lowly, walking towards one of the candles and blowing it out. The room was suddenly filled in half shadow. Their silhouettes were black against the faded light._

_"Why...?" Nasuada sat on the edge of the bed where he had been previously seated ._

_"Because he doesn't want him turning into _me_, Nasuada." His tone was stony as a look of unperturbed anger crossed his face. It then slipped as quickly as it had come. He shook his head, an almost bitter tone enveloping him._

_"...the memories...they would be too much..."_

_"But...you seem fine.." Nasuada mumbled not comprehending._

_"That's because.. I actually _don't _remember..."_

_. . ._

-X-

"You looked like you've seen a ghost..." He had heard those words before...from Nasuada about a day or two earlier after he had showed her his parent's old room. Hearing those words again only brought the images reeling back towards him. Murtagh found himself slumped against the lockers in the hallway, sunk all the way to the floor, enveloped in the nightmare. His heart pounded within his chest, face blanched deathly white. Eyes were pulped wide and he drew each jagged breath like it was the last he would take. Thorn towered above him, a disturbed expression permanently etched into his face. Belatedly he bent down towards his friend, arm propping him up off the lockers.

"Murtagh, what the hell happened to you..?" Thorn demanded his tone cracked in concern. He had peaked from the corner, to see Murtagh and Elva conversing, rather ..._arguing_.

_"Get off me..." the tone was warning enough. Murtagh's voice had sunk to gnarly growl. The venomous persistence remained however as Elva suddenly shoved him against the locker._

_"We had an agreement, why would you want to screw me over now?" her tone was her usual one high one laced with agitation…It then abruptly lowered to a rough demanding one. "It's that little black whore isn't it…" _

_Murtagh's face visibly sunk at this and Thorn could see, so did his posture. "She's not a whore." He stated firmly, eyes regaining their fierceness before they sank into submissiveness. "I…don't want to do this anymore. It's annoyng. We're not even really together, I don't know why I agreed to this in the first place."_

_Elva's face twisted in ugly anger. "You agreed to this because you owe me, Morzanson." Her tone was more of a hiss. " Or would you want me to mail you all of Daddy's letters – the ones he wrote to you from Prison…the ones you never read or answer." A smile then shifted to a dark one. "Perhaps I should reroute them to your house, the original destination and have step-daddy Brom read all of 'em then kick you out of his-" She paused mockingly. "I mean **your** manor." Arms were planted at her hips as the look of horror swept across Murtagh's face. "Or perhaps the whole school would like to hear how sorry your daddy is for slashing your back open…for your mother slipping the gun into her mouth…"_

_"You lie! He murdered her!" Murtagh had shoved her off, and Elva stumbled backwards, falling unto the shiny floors with a soft thud. She scrambled to her feet as a rage filled the eyes of Morzan's son. His shoulders stood rigid as she stood a little way off from him for a split second a look of fear enrapturing her features._

_"You think this girl's gonna help you, eh?" She hissed, then pointed to herself. "I'm the one…the one who's been reading those shitting letters for oh so long; Who's been writing back so you can keep that little shit house you call home; the one who knows everything Murtagh…who has kept it from you, just like you wanted!" _

_"For a price..!" She paused as Murtagh growled at her, arms folded at her chest. _

_" Get rid of her." She then stated untethered by the anger in his tone. " I don't want my reputation around her ruined. People have already started talking about that…" she paused a bit. "**Girl..**you've started hanging about with."_

_Murtagh looked like he was sick as Elva shoved a hand against his shoulder again, pinning him to the locker. "I want the **stuff** by Monday." She hissed in warning. "Don't bring it, and let's see what the school thinks about hearing Family stories instead of the announcements."_

_The slender girl then retracted, slender hands returning to her own body to fix the cheerleader's uniform that she had worn that day. Giving Murtagh a chirpy smile, she then pressed cherry red lips to his and walked away, murmuring loudly. "Bye sweetie…See ya Monday…"_

_Murtagh looked exasperated as he slumped against the lockers as Elva slithered like a viper further down into the corridors towards Thorn's hidden form and disappeared into the adjoining hall. Thorn watched in silent horror from the corner as she passed him – the sickening smile- aimed his way as well. He stared at her silently instead still partly in shock – not registering that she was slithering down the same hall where he had left Nasuada at the pool._

_ He was about to step forward when he saw Murtagh jolt from his position suddenly. Blue eyes stared raggedly, wildly – as head twisted rapidly as if in search of something. But…instead of curiosity, there was horror. He then saw Murtagh bang against the lockers as if something had pushed him, he was murmuring something desperately - eyes pulped widely from their sockets. Thorn jolted scrambling towards his friend who had fallen to the floor, backed against the lockers and as he got closer – realized was murmuring to himself._

_"No…No…!" Thorn looked utterly disturbed as he neared his friend, who was screaming lowly - whose chest now fluttered at rabid speed as air whistled in and out of it roughly, his face radiating panic. "Get away from me…!" he yelled, but Thorn knew he wasn't talking to him. Murtagh was instead, staring behind him. Pale hands clamped down at his ears, and Murtagh scrunched into a fetal position, murmuring lowly to himself as tears streamed down his face. "Go away…go away. Go away!" the voice of his friend was desperate, and Thorn cringed, a sudden panic seizing his chest. It was happening again._

...It was happening again…

The thought sent Thorn reeling back to memories – incidents that he thought would never have happened again. It had been so long ago, when Murtagh had _snapped_…and as he stared at his friend slumped against the lockers Thorn felt himself cringe all over again – the same sickened feeling began choking him as it did when Murtagh was eight – when he had nearly drowned – in the middle school pool, saying that his father had pushed him in. Thorn remembered believing him then, but no one else had. Morzan was in jail. He had been in prison since Murtagh was four. And it was after the terrible incident, that he had begun hearing his father's voice…then…seeing him.

"Murtagh, What the hell has happened to you…?" Thorn demanded again. His fingers yanked Murtagh as he continued to howl at the empty space behind Thorn. Unexpectedly, the red head slapped him…hard – on the cheek.

"Get a hold of yourself, Murtagh...!" He growled almost kindly. His voice was tense in concern, and Murtagh stared gapingly at him, like a child who had been smacked hard without reason. Tears tracked their way slowly down his face as blue eyes turned to the space behind Thorn. Thorn noticed how his body slunk afterward, almost heaving from relief. Eyes blinked, breathing began to slow and Thorn knew that Morzan…or the Morzan of Murtagh's mind…had gone – for now.

The dark haired boy swallowed harshly as he gazed back at his red haired best friend. Belatedly he roughly wiped away the tears from his own cheeks and stared out at the wall of lockers that dotted the hallway.

"What are you doing here…?" he murmured softly, for the most part pushing Thorn's protective hands gently away from him. Pride – Thorn could tell…Murtagh always pretended he didn't need anyone.

"Nasuada…" Thorn murmured back. "I walked her to her class…and then I heard you and Elva – arguing." He gestured towards the end of the hallway that dipped into a fork, where Elva had disappeared.

Murtagh seemed to tense at the name of the girl…which girl – Thorn could not tell. Murtagh sighed, long and harsh and turned towards his friend again, his face tired.

"I don't want to go back there, Thorn." He slumped against the lockers in his seated position. His friend slunk unto the floor of the hallway next to him.

"I won't let them take you back…Your never going back to that –_place _- again " he soothed. For a moment Murtagh kept silent, then nodded – believing him.

"What are you going to do about Elva..?" he changed the topic knowing that Murtagh would appreciate the shift. That _place_ had been hell for him, he didn't want him remembering it.

There was a low growl at mention of her name and an exasperated tone. "I don't know…I don't want to keep doing this, but…she'll…" He swallowed harshly recalling the venomous threats she made.

Thorn nodded slowly – he didn't need Murtagh to clarify her hateful words – he had heard them all. "What about Nasuada.." His statement was hesitant, as he turned towards his friend – noting the small smile that slivered upon his lips at mention of her name – then a look of what appeared to be sorrow swallowed it.

"I'll have to…" He paused head shaking as a bitter tone clung wretchedly to his voice. "I can't do that to her, Thorn." He turned to him again, blue eyes sunken. "She trusts me…Her father is dying. She needs-"

"You need yourself." The friend stated lowly and firmly. "…sane." He continued. "I've seen you like this before Murtagh…hissing and wild- your seeing things again aren't you…hearing things?" Murtagh turned stubbornly away from him, refusing to answer. Thorn grew desperate.

"Do you want them to send you back?" He murmured to his friend who sat silently, head drooped. "And if Elva makes good on her threat – the whole school would know..including Brom and he could kick you out of the house. You know his rage when it comes to Morzan and his letters– then Morzan's lawyer could have all of you retracted from his money for violating the conditions of the judge's ruling." He paused a bit before adding for good measure. "And then you'll all have nothing."

Murtagh remained silent as the heaviness of Thorn's words weighed down upon him – all of it true. Eyes flitted down across the lone stretch of hallway as the announcements chipped in informing the students that classes would soon come to an end – half day – because of the impending storm. Murtagh tensed as a familiar figure lingered from where she had disappeared mere minutes ago. Elva cruised down the hall, smiling sweetly –sickeningly - at them as a billow of long black hair flashed about her. As she passed them, Thorn growled at her, and Elva merely ignored him, ducking to the corner and into another corridor where her locker was.

Thorn grasped the hand of his friend – whose mind he wondered to himself - was as fragile as it once was before? He then helped him to stand, as he did as well. Murtagh slunk his school bag over a tired shoulder, the dreadful decisions he would have to make written all over his face. Thorn nodded to him, as he helped him down the corridor – the opposite way.

"I know you'll do the right thing…"

-Silence.

-X-

Saphira had amused herself with picking at the sapphire toned highlights that she had worn for the longest while. For a moment – she contemplated dying them purple instead but almost immediately decided against it. She was a blue kinda' girl – not purple. She was in the least to say surprised when Elva had bounded up to she and Nasuada as they sat by the pool, but it was Nasuada's following her to talk that intrigued her the most. She had waited – well for practically half a minute – before the two had emerged from the privacy of the empty bleachers that the school had installed about a good twenty yards from the pool. She remembered the harsh – searing look on Elva's face as she emerged, and the angry, tethered – confused one of her new friend Nasuada.

What made the matter even worse was Nasuada's silence thereafter. She had said nothing…absolutely nothing about it, even minutes after the announcement that school would be cut short…nothing in the changing room…and she still remained silent even now after their swimming class as they took their books and other belongings from the lockers in the hall.

"What the heck did the _twat _say to you anyway, Nasuada…?" for the first time she attempted to broach the subject having realized in all finality that the dark skinned girl had absolutely no intention of bringing it up. Saphira noted the bewildered expression on Nasuada's face as she emptied the remaining books from her locker and into her orange school bag. A sharp sigh punctuated the momentary silence then Nasuada finally spilled the beans.

"She wants me to stay away from him…Murtagh." she murmured her face still in that dazed state. Saphira looked at her strangely.

"And are you…?"

"No." she turned to her. "Not on my part, but then she said something about me being Murtagh's weight, dragging him down, and that I'm messing him up…That she's his girlfriend and that I have no right…" she shook her head, regaining herself abruptly, and Saphira seemed more settled at the change. The stubborn-feisty hot headed girl had returned, right in time as she noted Eragon walking towards them from the hall. For a moment dark blue eyes glinted at the walking figure taking him in – ears not registering the words of Nasuada as she continued to complain about Elva.

"Who the hell does she think she is..." she heard Nasuada hiss in the hazy background as her gaze fixed upon the handsome figure of Eragon moving closer towards them.

Eragon was slender, muscular…With sharp hazel eyes that were usually wide with fright or slanted with laughter. Blond hair was almost always combed neatly back, yet still managed to spike almost cutely at the top. In rare moments she had caught him with dark framed glasses planted neatly above his nose - book propped thoughtfully in front of him in the Library. She had seen him quiet then, alone…his natural side – without that Arya the darker presence in sight. Enveloped in his literature he had never...ever seen her. He was tall, much taller by herself than the looks of it, as Nasuada was taller than her and he had been taller than the dark skinned girl. But Saphira, despite hanging around people who were in almost utter opposition to such obvious decorum and studiousness, found herself liking the young man. Sharp teeth were partly exposed in a smile as he walked up to them, and dark blue eyes openly glanced him up and down, not caring if he noticed her. The Principal's son however did not.

"Skinny old –"

"Hey Nasuada…" Saphira heard the last of Nasuada's rant (which she had not been listening to) interrupted by Eragon's rather cheerful greeting. He smiled at his friend, and then a little more shyly at Saphira who had an intense gaze set upon him.

"Erh hello…" he stuttered a little unnerved by Saphira's staring. He then turned back towards Nasuada. " Murtagh's said, whenever you're ready to go. I think he's in the parking lot waiting, Dad called…" he flashed his cell phone at her. "He said he wants us home as soon as possible so everything can be done for the storm preparation." Nasuada whose intense look of hatred -while ranting- had slipped upon interruption of her friend now sported a more friendly look. She nodded at him as she closed her locker and slung her school bag around her back. Having collected their things already, the three then stepped down the corridors, school bags slung in various positions and made their way slowly to the front of the school where the parking lot was.

Saphira could tell that Nasuada and Eragon were close. They had linked their arms in a loose knot of ivory and ebony as they all stepped out down the slanted pathway at the school's entrance leading into the grassy lawn and then the parking lot. Saphira had followed them there silently watching the two, as Eragon blabbered on about his day to her, and Nasuada's husky rich tone was punctuated with genuine laughter at moments of humour he had shared. Politely they had included her in conversation, but it had been different then. She felt herself a weight to the otherwise free flowing chatter and rather had settled on to watch the two in slight amazement, not at all bothered or feeling like a third wheel.

In slight Saphira, envied Nasuada somewhat...the connection she had with him. She, herself had never been close to anyone really...it was like some force inside her had always been searching for that perfect person, that soul companion that she had not found as yet. She had hesitations towards aiming such towards Eragon, but their was an undeniable attraction there - not only because she found him handsome - but there was something else...she felt drawn to him, like a being to another being.

"Hey.." the sound was rude almost as it broke her from the reflection. Saphira had not realized that they had reached the vehicle so quickly. She blinked finding herself, arm linked with Nasuada _(when the hell did that happen?)_ whose other arm had remained knotted with Eragon, standing before a relaxed Murtagh who had settled himself upon the bonnet of the car. He had been obviously waiting for the two.

"Took you long enough..." she heard the dark haired boy say. Dark blue eyes narrowed at his figure. He was different - she noted. For years she had been used to the arrogant, Murtagh - who hung around with his posse of trouble makers and with his union with Elva Fantismo had ensured himself a run in the cool kids circle for life. This was not the same Murtagh. Saphira watched him with silent eyes as the others - too busy blabbering to one another seemed oblivious to this change. His tone subdued, arms hung almost loosely from his sides in ...defeat? as he slipped from the bonnet of the vehicle and planted firm feet unto the cooled asphalt of the parking lot. The sky in appropriateness had seemingly readied itself for the pending onslaught - streaks of sallow gray hue had broken out across the sky in dark ugly splotches that at first glance looked like sores . The few cumulonimbus clouds looked like towering black columns in the sky.

"Sorry, about that." she heard Nasuada apologize to the youth. He gazed at her, nodding ever so slightly. Saphira's eyes narrowed at the gaze he gave her...it was...conflicted to say the least. Eragon remained completely oblivious as did Nasuada as they bounded towards the back of the vehicle. Stealing into the driver's seat the older brother then clicked the button and the trunk flew open. Nasuada stuffed her bags into the trunk as did Eragon and they headed towards the doors.

"Bye...Saphira." The girl with the dark blue eyes felt her stomach almost flutter as Eragon said her name, waving to her with a more confident smile stilled in his face. He then slipped into the backseat where Murtagh had obviously flung his own belongings. There was no room for Nasuada around the back. She found herself smiling back, as Nasuada bounded up to her and grabbed her unawares into a hug. Before the shorter girl could protest, Nasuada had retracted, and then in hesitation made a sudden move. Saphira found herself gasping in more surprise than pain as a dark hand smacked her squarely on the bum. She then grinned at her friend with sharp teeth, as Nasuada hissed playfully.

"That's for swimming class today." she murmured grinning back to her as she then opened the car door and slipped into the seat adjacent Murtagh. Winding down the windows, she then yelled.

"Stay safe Dragon girl!" Saphira grinned shaking her head and waving back as the car pulled out of the parking lot. She glimpsed Eragon seated- or more squashed uncomfortably in the back by Murtagh's things. Dark blue eyes then glanced at the front of the car where Nasuada and Murtagh were seated before it pulled out of view and sped down into the line of traffic heading towards the school's exit. Dark ocean blue eyes narrowed again, the blue blond streaks of loose hair whipping in the wind. There was something there...in that look Murtagh gave an oblivious Nasuada. She had seen it before. It was the look that guys gave girls before...Saphira cringed at the thought, her stomach suddenly freezing...before they broke their hearts.

. . .

_"It's me ...and its you." his voice softened significantly." You don't really know me - and I don't want you to..." He stumbled closer to her, blue eyes piercing at her hollow face. "If I continue like this...with you...all those years of- " he paused tension evident in clenched jaw. He continued with a tentative tone. _

_"They would have been for nothing," He murmured the last before turning and slowly walking away towards the Manor. " and then I'll be left even **more** broken..."_

His words haunted her as she stood alone in the pouring rain. If only Saphira had warned her…or perhaps Nasuada wouldn't have believed her anyway. She thought that she and Murtagh had formed a connection of sorts - thought that he understood her and she him in the Golden Room those three days ago. She remembered his kisses as she stood there dejected almost as the splitting drops ripped easily through her cardigan through her uniform and unto nerve numbed skin. She was jittering, from the cold…from the tears…she didn't know anymore.

Murtagh had left her…silently walking away ignoring the soft gasps that slithered through her rain numbed lips - her calling him twice almost desperately. He had left her there...it was that - not his words that hurt the most. Feet stood there planted as water gushed in heavy drones across the pavement, gathering from various puddles and pooling together forming gushing streams that trailed around her feet. The rain was rhythmic in chaotic sounds as a streak of thunder tore through the rain drop symphony. Its sound resounded like a blaring trumpet across an ensemble of lulling flutes...it seemed to call down even more rain. She felt..suddenly heavy...feet moved...rather trudged achingly towards the colossal Manor before her. The rain seared against her...she melted with it, feeling one with the chaotic orchestra. A streak of lightning flew dangerously across the sky.

The storm was coming...

Nasuada stepped up towards the large arched doors of the Bromson's home. Her mind numb, her body rattling in confused...sadness as rain tore down upon her.

...The Storm was coming...

* * *

Well...Finally done! Jesus! *head falls upon keyboard in triumphic tiredness* *manical laugh rips through as face remains planted upon keyboard*

Yes...I did it my loverlees! I managed to explain everything while yes...managing to procure even further suspense...with riveting questions such as:

a) WHAT THE FEGGING HELL WAS THAT PLACE THAT MURTAGH WAS SENT TO!

and...

b) WHO THE BACKSIDE (note Jamaican mild swear word) SENT HIM THERE!

and...

c) WHAT IS THIS DEAL THAT ELVA AND MURTAGH HAVE?

d) WHAT THE HECK IS UP WITH FADAWAR AND THAT STRANGE MEETING WITH BROM?

and...why am I typing in caps...?

Note: I gave my absolute all in this...I just hope you guys can give long reviews if possible...please. It would be greatly appreciated.

ok...you guys can ask away though, I know theres sooo much more questions there. I managed to stuff everything that should have been in about three to four chapters into part1 and part 2. Well, now you guys know the reason for Murtagh dropping Nasuada like a hot pancake...Hopefully it wasn't confusing and I really hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing it.


	11. Chapter 11: The Storm

Hello guys and girls! Back again with another anticipated chapter of Highschool. Thank you guys for the tremendous support that you have given me with this story! Just two reviews away from 80! Absolutely spectacular!

Special thanks to Restrained Freedom who stood up for this story in the face on an unmerited critique and the beautiful review that you gave - you rock!

Thanks also to: BrightWatcher, Nell, Alisialy, Islanderr, voodoo drum and of course the Guest review! You guys always make me smile :D

Summary: The storm - the height of the dreadful aftermath of a friendship torn and the beginnings of a new one.

Disclaimer: Paolini please don't sue for borrowing your characters….

* * *

Chapter Eleven

The Storm

The large open foyer of the Manor was drenched in darkness. The generator had yet to be turned on and all the lights were out; the blanched half gray seemed to wrench itself through the large glass windows that for the most part encased the outer edges of the living room. Outside, the rain tore across the Manor – across the mile long driveway, the lush gardens and hydrangeas and rose bush drenching them all …drowning them all. The thunderous roar of some angry god ripped in habitual bellows across the dark gray sky – he should have been used to the sound by now, but every time it ripped through his ears it sent Eragon cringing again. He leaned further into the soft cushions of the sofa as another dreadful thunder scream ripped through the living room; and he covered his ears, wishing it to all end.

"You're not going to get rid of it that easily." Came a familiar tone – one that habitually teased and prodded and hounded him for years. Now however it was drenched, sapped by some melancholy force and was almost lost in the heavy pounding of the rain storm outside. Eragon turned almost fully in light surprise. He had thought himself alone for the past minutes after he heard Murtagh slither inside and disappear silently up the dark staircase. His brother had returned however and in his once habitually creepy way had been watching, silently watching from the bottom of the stairs. Eragon belatedly rose from his cushioned place and turned towards Murtagh who still sat upon the last stair. He gazed at him lightly, hazel eyes taking in his disheveled appearance.

Although it was evident that Murtagh had changed from his wet drag mere minutes ago – his hair, was damp and almost ragged upon his head. It made his aura even darker in the awful gray light and blue eyes look even more haunting. The soft gray glow from the glass windows, shone fractured across the room flittering across already pale skin and giving it a pallid hue. The two brothers merely stared at each other - Eragon standing, Murtagh sitting…silence. It had been this way for as long as he could remember.

"Where's Nasuada?" Eragon said noting the way Murtagh's eyes blinked at the question. He saw his brother tense, blue eyes almost immediately flitting towards the large windows that reflected the absolute terror of the beginnings of the storm. There was suspicion in Eragon's eyes as he gazed at him. He remembered his brother's words to his friend as the car slowly made it up the driveway. His tone was hushed, cracked almost as he murmured to her in the front of the car.

'_I need to speak with you…' _

Hazel eyes furrowed at him, knowing something had happened. "Murtagh?" he questioned again, his tone becoming tinged in agitation. Yet his brother did not answer him. He merely sat there in dreadful silence, a numbed expression planted on his face. Eragon slithered over to him, kneeling at his sitting figure and clenching his arm - a terrified look in his eye.

"Murtagh, what have you done…?"

The answer was the terrible screech of the heavy oak, double hinged doors of the Manor. Eragon's head perked at the sound, hand still upon his brother's arm. He heard the door slam shut, a heavy boom across the ripping – shredding sound of the rain outside. And then, there was the squishing sound…it sounded wet, soppy. It came in rhythmic slow beats, punctuating the wait. Eragon stood shakily, hazel eyes widening at the drenched figure of Nasuada as she sauntered from the foyer and into the living room.

She was…she…Eragon had never seen her like this. The look on her face, reminded him of the one he had seen her sport when she had learned of her father's illness. It was cold, numbed even. Yet this one was visibly worse…perhaps it was the way the fractured light from the darkened sky outside heightened the shadows of her dark skin. Or maybe it was the distance…the haunting distant look that settled in eyes that he had seen always alight with fire and emotion.

Eragon stood at full length, unable to speak. He merely watched as she slowly…ever so slowly lumbered towards him…rather...them. Murtagh had not moved one inch from the stairs. Yet his gaze was not fixed upon Nasuada as Eragon's was, rather it was upon the floor. A terrible silence echoed through the room as the rain ripped outside.

She was drenched, soaking from head to foot in rain water. The cardigan slunk from her frame as her cropped hair was drizzled yet somehow did not slap lifelessly across her head like his or Murtagh's did when wet. Eragon stared at her pitying figure. One of the dark blue arms of the cardigan had slipped from her shoulder and hung from her, exposing the drenched cotton white of her blouse. Eragon ignored the lacy print of her bra beneath it and swallowed harshly, allowing his own steps to close the larger gap between them. Ivory hands grasped her own; she did not respond…her eyes looked lost as she gazed about the shadowed room seemingly disoriented.

"You can't-" he broke suddenly as she made her way towards the stairs and stopped abruptly before the sitting figure of Murtagh. She blinked at him, the same numbed expression clinging to a sallow face.

"..go on the wooden stairs, with wet shoes." He continued afterward. His tone had deadness about it, just like how her expression was drained of all emotion. She was frozen before the dark haired youth; gazing at him with hollow eyes.

And then suddenly, she jerked backwards, slipping back unto the level plain where Eragon stood. She then tore the dripping navy blue cardigan from her body with a rage almost, yet her face did not reflect such emotion. It was haggard, frozen in that same calmed numbness that had settled into her very being. The cardigan slithered abruptly to the floor -the sappy sound splatting against the black marble tile. Wet shoes were then plied from soaked feet and socks and then Nasuada glanced up at Eragon as dark lips parted.

"That ok?" she asked. Her husky tone was cracked. Eragon found himself nodding at her, and then she slithered up the stairs passed a head hung Murtagh, and into the darkness of the upper levels. Eragon gazed up at her, his stomach wrenching as a terrible feeling enveloped him. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but he had his suspicions. He glanced at the guilt ridden expression on his brother's face as he shook his head at him whispering.

"God, Murtagh….what _have_ you done?"

-X-

It was pouring. It was fricking pouring the _one_ day that piece o' junk jeep decided to finally give up on her. Saphira slammed angry fists against the custom steering wheel, igniting the angry blaring of the horn and cursed her father yet again for not putting her car in the shop when she had asked. She stared out the fogged window, unable to see anything but darkness through the awful torrential downpour. So much for that stupid extra credit class she had been forced to take. The teacher decided not to cancel even though she knew of the upcoming storm. Well, Mrs. Astreigh or _Asstard_ as Saphira loved to call her behind her back, would be alright (she lived merely two blocks from the school)– and apparently did not care if her students were sent out in the dark, tearing storm to what could very well be their deaths.

She had been there, for almost two hours, stranded – in the freezing car, her hazard lights flashing weakly in the eye blinding darkness. Saphira curled up in the driver's seat with the roof light on, listening to the scratchy sound of the radio bawling out what she was sad to call modern music. Annoyed, she flipped off the radio, and eased back her seat, wrapping her arms around her cold body. Every breath was painful. Her whole body ached as white mist settled in thin films on all glass windows. Saphira coughed lowly as she wiped the same misty film from her watch and sighed in exasperation as she saw the time.

"7:30…No one's gonna be coming round here this time o' night." Her lips trembled as the words left her dry, cold numbed lips; and she shivered lightly – fearfully curling into a tighter ball as the manic howling continued to whip and lash outside of the vehicle. She had been foolish, taking the short cut through the woods at such a late time. The road was always lonely during this time, but the thought of muggers did not bother her now…it was the thought of being stranded here in the middle of what weather casters had predicted could possible turn into a hurricane. She cringed at the thought of those terrible winds flipping her car, or one of those mammoth trees outside falling and crushing her to death. The dreadful howling continued to scream, and the rain and booming thunder continued its destructive onslaught. Not being able to take it anymore, she switched the radio back on again, turning the volume until it bucked at its maximum. She settled into back into her seat, dark blue eyes laden with anxiety as the terrible banshee screeching of some young pop singer blasted into her ear. . .

-X-

Each beat – the slow rhythmic thump of a beating heart was what told him he was indeed alive; that he wasn't some demon, or monster, that his heart wasn't encased in ice…that he was indeed _human_. His blood felt cold as it slithered like silk through his veins and his skin was tinged in a gray chill. The dreadful numb of the bellowing wind and shrills of the tearing rain seemed to emanate from his whole being. He was numbed on the inside… completely so.

Murtagh had sat…unmoving, even as she stared at him with haunted eyes, her body dripping in rain and sorrow; even when her voice cracked in emotion – even when her eyes were filled with confused pain. He felt himself swallow, as slow footsteps brought him up the winding stair case – hands smoothing against the polished cherry wood railing; the grainy wood feeling like crawling spiders along his palm. The manor was filled with the courage splitting clamor that sang violently through the property, threatening to shatter expensive glass windows through the shutters and ravage the priceless furnishings within. To Murtagh however, the rain, the wind and the hot streaks of lightening were not singing – screaming of courage and celebration – they were lamenting, shattered voices tinged in sorrow and pain. They mimicked what Nasuada felt…what he _should_ have felt – the thing that dwelt deep within him, but was smothered by the dominant cold beast – the numbness that enveloped him.

Feet brought him to the second landing, when a noise that did not blend with the rain and thunder mingled in the air. Murtagh froze, hand clenched to the railing as he heard Eragon's muffled voice slither into his ear.

"Nasuada…please…open up..!" the pounding came afterward of gentle fists upon the mahogany door of her large room. Murtagh could imagine Eragon, with that desperate care upon his face, slumping over her door like a lost puppy – believing to himself that he was some sort of savior and could fix _everything_. The thought made his stomach twinge, and icy blood that rushed through his veins warmed slightly. He bit his lips – not wanting it…to _feel_. Not wanting to imagine her, slumped upon her bed in the darkness of her room – dark cheeks stained with tears that _he_ had caused. He swallowed involuntarily this time as bitterness clung to his tongue, and forced himself up the next flight of stairs. He could hear the pounding upon the door as he practically ran up the stairs – trying the escape the sound of Eragon's sympathy and care – ripping at his ear – tearing at the seams of a heart clamped shut.

He was almost out of breath when he finally reached the fourth hall. Murtagh sighed abruptly as he stood at the stair landing, eyes clamped shut. The terrible sound of Eragon's begging had died down to muffled pleads. And he inhaled sharply – setting mind to former resolve – the words of Thorn slipping to thought as he walked towards the door of his own room.

. . .

"_Do you want them to send you back?"_

. . .

_"I know you'll do the right thing…." _

_. . ._

"The right thing…" What the hell was that anyway…what was the _right _in all of this mess, and heartache? A sharp sigh stabbed through pink lips as he trudged closer to the door – the terrible feeling of threading seams of numb defense slowly coming apart. He steeled himself, feeling the soft wave of emotion linger within – and forced it out almost immediately. He would not…_could _not feel now. It would ruin him. It would make him weak – have him crawl back like. . . like Eragon…but instead of begging for her to open the door to comfort her , he would be begging for forgiveness – for shattered trust, stinging confusing words and a broken heart.

Murtagh forced the numbness to envelope him as at last footsteps placed him before the door of his own room. Blue eyes lingered over the familiar wood, the ingrains and blemishes of sharp fingernails of a hyperactive Eragon in their younger years. Murtagh sighed, Elva's stinging words echoing in thought as fingers smoothed over the familiar cracks and scrapes.

. . .

_"Perhaps I should reroute them to your house, the original destination and have step-daddy Brom read all of 'em then kick you out of his-" She paused mockingly. "I mean **your** manor."_

_. . ._

His throat went dry as her threats lingered over him. And thinking of Nasuada again, his mind steeled in resolve. This was his home... He could not lose this…This strange circus of a family that he had – was the _only_ he had and ever would have. He could not risk losing such...ruining his life - their own lives as well, ...not even for her. Thorn was right, this had been the _right_ thing to do.

Fingers lingered upon the wood in silent nostalgia as eyes followed in the same until they glanced towards the bottom of the door. And in that moment, his heart stopped, numbing resolve slipped like running liquid and emotion stabbed him…_hard_. Murtagh stood gob smacked, heart strangely aching as the tattered, familiar blue-button eyes of his teddy bear stared back at him, seated at his door.

. . .It was the bear that he had given to Nasuada merely days ago. The one his mother had made him - the one he had told Nasuada to keep. He felt his chest sink, his stomach crumpling as he bent to pick up the bear, smothering his face in the light blue fur. His chest tightened. He had hoped in the depths of a shielded heart that she would have kept it...it had been some measure of comfort to him in younger years and despite the hurtful words he had thrown at her in the rain, he would have the same for her. But Nasuada had returned it - leaving it dejected at his door. Their were no tears as he stood there, the bear clutched in his grasp, but pained guilt racked him. And Murtagh slumped against his door, knowing that he had ruined everything. . .that she now hated him... -and even more painfully- that the bond they had formed those three days ago had dissolved into nothingness.

-X-

The rain seared across his whole body, the wind whipped painfully and it was by sheer miracle that his bike had not slipped off the road and into some trench or the hard bark of one of the mammoth trees whose wide branches loomed over into the road. The high thrum of the engine revved through the heavy drenching of the storm upon him, and he sped up the rain wet road and further into the blinding darkness. Belts of hot white lightning flew across the sky in bright sporadic flashes like a lamp that flickered on and off without warning; it illuminated the road for brief seconds.

He knew shouldn't have left so late…but then the major roads had been closed – and he had been forced to take the road through the woods. Home the only objective, the figure clenched harder in the soaked leather seat, the rain strumming off the fitted black hoodie and navy blue pants that he wore. The cold literally shattering his bones, he steeled his mind upon the warm blankets and hot tea awaiting him and tore through the nightmare, speeding down the road with sizzling velocity.

It had been pure darkness, the howling rain and screeching wind battering against the rider's helmet that he wore, dredging what was once a nice view in sunshine to endless dark and drudgery. And then there had been a faint glare – a sliver of amber light flashing weakly in the distance. At first he had thought it mere reflection of his own bike lamp from the gushing water on the road...but as he sped further towards it, the flashing grew stronger, clearer and eyes widened as the faint smoky figure of a vehicle became clearer to him; its hazard lights flashing as clear as day. It was obvious it was stranded.

He swallowed harshly, contemplating for a moment; and against the tiny voice in his head that told him differently and the terrible discomfort that crawled through his skin - hands cut on the motor and he slowly turned over to the soft shoulder of mud and stone and sputtered towards what he now recognized was a sapphire blue jeep wrangler. The engine died out as the bike slowed behind the stranded vehicle and ivory hands grasped unto the helmet set firmly on his head. For a moment, he froze as he sat in the dark battering rain. Streaks of lightning flew dangerously in hot white scratches across the sky and thunder boomed like a sonic wave through the wet air. The helmet was like a mask - shielding him from the blinding onslaught - yet it utterly stifled in hot humid breaths and he pried it from his belatedly.

Breath hitched at the release, as the icy rain pounded down upon him, flooding through deep red hair. His tall figure slipped off the parked bike. Sea green eyes blinked as the wind whipped mercilessly, blinding them with the streaming rain, and he sauntered over to the jeep - a part of him wondering why it seemed to familiar to him. . .

-X-

Saphira had dozed off to the screeching lullaby of some Disney pop star screaming from the radio and the dreadful clamour of the thunder storm outside. She had dreamed - well...it was more a muddle of a dream than anything but there had been lucid moments, where she had recognized Nasuada, Eragon and even the dark haired one all in the fuzzied atmosphere of what appeared to be a familiar corridor in Varden High. It had been a strange dream, jumbled together in a confused mess of angry words, tears and deadly tension. She had twisted in the driver's seat, eyes fluttering weakly behind closed lids when a sudden clap of thunder had startled her from sleep. And it was then, sitting upright in her seat, heart fluttering a bit in delayed fright that she noticed a peer of bright sea green eyes peering at her from the window and a hand tapping against the foggy glass.

It wasn't a shriek or a yell...it was hollering...constant hollering that ripped from the teenager's mouth - her mind loaded with confused fright - her mouth filled with unimaginable swears. Her stomach clenched tightly as she practically wheezed, slumping at lightening speed to other section of the car. The person who she had immediately dubbed a creep, seemed unperturbed however and for a split second Saphira wondered if she had carried the mace that her father had handed to her on her fifteenth birthday followed by the delightful words of "Use it well." The initial terror however was quelled when Saphira realized just how ridiculous the whole affair really was. _She_ was the one who had her hazard lights on, and here was a stranger actually coming to help her when she had thought all hope was lost...and she was screaming at him like a _maniac_.

Reason caused her mouth to clamp shut, and tentatively she crawled over to the driver's seat again and ever so slowly she wound down the window. The rain poured mercilessly inwards, but it was the face that peered out at her that held her in surprise. A pair of wide sea green eyes stared out at her, rain streaming down sloppy dark red hair. She had seen this boy before...at school, with the dark haired one, Murtagh. Eyes widened as her mind rummaged around for his name...

"Thorn?"

The boy was evidently uncomfortable as he visibly squirmed in the onslaught of whipping rain upon him, yet his eyes held the same surprise. His mouth pulled slightly as if about to discuss the familiarity, but then he suddenly glanced towards the bonnet of her car.

"What's wrong with it?"

Saphira shook of surprise at his question, her brows furrowing. This was not the time for idle conversation. "I..really don't know. It was fine when I drove from school, but then when I was on this stretch of road it started making a really gritty sound, and smoking like a damn chimney!And then...the engine just died."

A look of contemplation was written plainly in Thorn's face as the hard rain smacked against him. Saphira looked concerned.

"Eh, you wanna come in or something?" she made to open the door, but Thorn stopped her. Pointing to the bonnet with his chin, he motioned for her to open it.

"Pop the hood, would'ya? Maybe I can fix this, so we can both go home..." he paused a bit, glancing about him in the terrible weather. "Before this thing, gets any worse..."

Saphira seemed to jolt at his words and quickly hurried to press the button to open the bonnet. The faint click could not be heard against the howling winds, but it was evident that Thorn knew that she had followed his instruction. Seconds later he was at the front of the car, the hood lifted high above him, peering at the smouldering engine of her jeep. Saphira stuck her head out the window the slicing rain biting against her face and chest. Her eyes stung against the wind as she practically yelled to him through the noise.

"Hey, you need any help?"

Thorn heard her muffled voice through the torrential downpour. He squirmed as he stood in the dark unable to see anything beneath the hood.

"Yea..."

"What was that?" She sounded hard of hearing as she bellowed out the window...

"Yeah!" Thorn mirrored the same ear rattling tone she had adopted. "D'ya have a flashlight!"

…Silence.

Thorn peered out the side belatedly when he did not hear response. He did not see her at the window, but then, she was probably searching for the flashlight.

"...What the...!"

He practically jumped when a hand pressed against his shoulder from behind. Sea green eyes flashed in angry fright as he turned to see the Saphira's shorter figure standing beside him. His heart hammered in his chest in delayed reaction, as he bit his lip from swearing. Like Thorn, the rain tore against her once dry figure; her uniform was pasted sloppily unto her skin, and her blond hair was slapped against her face. The two looked mirrored in disheveled appearance.

"Dear lord.." he hissed lowly. "Was it necessary to sneak up on me like that…?"

He looked a little annoyed as Saphira's face took on a humoured expression. "A little jumpy, aren't we?" Thorn glanced at her, about to retort when she continued. "Well I've got it, always keep one in the backseat."

She handed the large flashlight to Thorn, and watched as he shook it a bit, before flicking the 'on' button. He peered into the array of foreign mechanics that Saphira knew very little about. The rain hissed against the warmed engine, and there was an intense expression planted upon his face as he peered into the hood, focusing the light on various parts within the bonnet. Saphira watched him with bright blue eyes as he murmured to himself - the rain slaughtering them in their hunched positions before the car. It was a low hiss, but Saphira had heard it as it left his lips, and in that moment she knew that things were much crappier than they had first been before.

"What is it...?" Thorn glanced at her question with a pained expression etched into his shadowed features. Saphira swallowed harshly at his look.

"Don't sugar coat it. Just tell it to me, straight..." Her tone was a little shaky, as she could literally feel the depression descending in the thunder, rain and lightning that shattered down upon them from the dark night sky.

"Your radiator looks cracked...So 'am guessing the coolant leaked out on your way through here and that's why the car started to overheat and eventually smoke." he paused a bit, turning his gaze from her and back to the vehicle. He tapped his fingers against the engine and sighed harshly.

"Also looks like you may have a problem with the alternator. I can't see things too clearly in this damn weather but based on what you're telling me about it suddenly shutting off..." his tone faded, as he saw the bewildered look in her eyes.

"You ...ok?" he questioned, already knowing the answer. Saphira gave him a forced laugh as the cold rain beat against her face.

"Yeah perfect actually...I live so far from here...And in this damn weather...and now the jeep can't be fixed here..." she sighed harshly, and Thorn's gaze lingered to the parked crimson toned kawasaki bike that he drove. The wind whipped suddenly and stung harshly against them. Thorn felt a chill creep into his bones, but Saphira visibly shivered. A pang of guilt swept over him, as he slammed the bonnet shut. Thorn then turned to her, clutching at the soaked black hoodie that was zipped tightly up to his neck, the collar of his school shirt, dripping out from the top.

"Where do you live?"

Saphira, who had her gaze upon the smooth slick black asphalt of the road, turned suddenly at his questioning.

"The farther end of the Northern border of Carvahall Cresent..." she murmured to him, as he handed back the flashlight to her after switching it off. Saphira noted the hard contemplation twisting into his face as lightning flashed dangerously overhead.

"Uhm...Do you have anything important in the jeep?" he half motioned to the car and Saphira glanced at him as thunder rippled across the sky in a low hum.

"Just my school bag...Why?" she said.

"Go get it..." Thorn teetered over to his bike, and slung a leg over the custom leather seat. Hands slipped the key in the ignition and the engine throttled to life. Saphira tattered over to him moments later, her school bag clutched in her hand. She looked ghostly in the stormy dark, her hair hanging in drenched strings upon her head, the rain water soaked mercilessly through her uniform and down her body.

"This has all m'stuff in it..." Saphira murmured to him as Thorn got off his throttling bike and made his way over to the jeep again. After peering at it for a few seconds he dived suddenly into the pitch black underbrush behind it.

"Where are you going!" Her tone was laced with fright as she saw Thorn disappear into the dark blur of ominous looking trees. Lightning flashed dangerously across the sky and Saphira shook from cold as the awful rain beat her.

Luckily for her, Thorn came diving out of the dark mere seconds later. He looked wild as sea green eyes were wide, the rain streaming from his face, and his dark red hair looking black in the dark light. Saphira glanced at him a bit taken aback, and then at the curious object in his grasp.

"What's that...?" Her tone had switched back to its usual loud intonation as cracks of thunder shattered through their eardrums, leaving them temporarily paralyzed from its mere intensity.

Thorn seemed to not have heard her however and poking himself through the window of her jeep, he turned slipped the gear in neutral and pushed the vehicle along the soft shoulder and into a small nook of hidden bramble. Saphira had teetered up behind him in curiosity, but as she saw the thick piece of dead tree branch that he had carried in his left arm - realization hit her. Just as she thought, Thorn took the wide piece of dead thick branch and covered the top of her jeep. Glancing out at his handiwork for a moment, he then jogged back to Saphira who had an impressed look on her face. To any on looker, the her vehicle would have just appeared to be apart of the dark thicket of the woodland.

"Nice job..." her tone was swept away in the crack of thunder that rattled them as they sprinted slowly towards Thorn's bike after he had handed her, her car keys. Their figures were illuminated by the sporadic hum of lightning across the sky - turning black shadow into solid gray light - if only for brief seconds. Thorn swung himself unto the bike with ease - evidently having much practice with his own vehicle. He glanced at Saphira with expecting eyes as the engine throttled lowly in the noisy background.

"So you taking me home?" Saphira suggested the obvious as she rather awkwardly climbed unto the back of the smooth leather seat of Thorn's bike. She rather awkwardly clutched to him, as he revved the engine loudly. Turning to her, grinning in what could no less be described as childish enthusiasm, he merely laughed and kindly handed her his helmet. The rain water dripped steadily from his face as his green eyes pierced brightly into her own.

"...Sure you can say that..."

A look of suspicion crawled into her features, as Thorn slowly sputtered off the soft shoulder and unto the main winding road.

"...Home is the operative word right now..." he mumbled to her, as Saphira clutched loosely to his waste from behind. The rain had increased its assault and beat against them even more heavily than before. Thorn's loud voice was muffled through the nature noise. "I'm taking you to my home...its way closer and safer..."

The look of frightened surprise was still planted on Saphira's face as the bike sped off unto the slick gushing road and into the flashing darkness. Caution lingered in her veins, but with it there was reasonable resolve. It would be madness to attempt journey to her house in this weather...going to Thorn's house was more reasonable - the risk of dying was not as great- to be struck by lightning, to slip off the rain wet roads or to drown in a flash flooded ditch. She hoped by some grace that she would be able to explain such reason to her father. Saphira clung to dear life as the bike thundered down the winding road - the same caution singeing through her gut...but it was not the harrowing thought that of certain death that merited caution - it was the strange excitement that she found lingered in her chest at the thought of such unexpected adventure.

* * *

Hey guys...I know this chapter wasn't as 'action' packed so to speak as the last one...but alas such is life and I wanted a more calmer toned chapter for this one so the upcoming complications will be better received. I do hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. I found myself shying away from writing Nasuada's pov for this chapter - as it depressed the hell out'a me and thought it would be a good break to explore other Pov's. I loved writing the interaction between Thorn and Saphira...Would love your feedback on the subject. . .

Remember to R&R! And recommend if you can!


	12. Chapter 12: In the Face of Storms

I have absolutely no excuses, and yet every excuse. I will refrain from giving them however and willingly accept any dwelling anger that you may harbor for me updating after months…*eek*.

Yes...So I am basically and officially back from the dead. Well, Im actually quite serious, I contracted Dengue and was bed ridden, roasting with fever, body ache and not eating anything for more than a week. After only being able to drink water and occasionally juice if my stomach allowed, my muse suddenly got awakened and I managed to finish the chapter.

I had actually began writing this chapter **BEFORE** the evil hurricane/ super storm Sandy decided to show up and screw the Caribbean and the U.S. It was while the after effects were still fresh that I wanted to dedicate this chapter to all those affected by the weather system; especially to those living with the United States who were affected very badly by this storm and were still without electricity, or water, or even left homeless. Well that intention is pretty much shot now, but none the less I do hope that y'all are safe and sound in general and have recovered.

Thank you for all those who reviewed and have actually _waited_ for this update (you lot are Saints I swear :D). I wasn't originally planning to write a Thorn Saphira scene, but I realized most, if not all of you wanted one..Soooo...

I planted one at the top!

_I quite enjoyed it so much that I ended doing two scenes with 'em._ Hope it's not Too lame. :P

And HOLY SMOKES GUYS 91 reviews! That's awesome! Thank you soooo much for all your support over these treacherous months of waiting!

Special thanks to - Restrained Freedom, Elemental Dragon Slayer, BrightWatcher, Alisialy, Nell, Voodoo Drum, Enjoy-No-Advantages, FightTillTheLastBreath, Lala, the Guest Reviewer, RowenaForever, OCD Manga Geek and Bookworm 741 for reviewing the last chapter..! :D

In response to RowenaForever: I'm glad you enjoyed it...kinda wondering how the flashbacks are annoying though...I only implement them to provide background, and to propel the plot, so I'm sorry if you're finding it difficult to follow. I won't promise to drop them, because they are crucial, but I will try to make them easier to follow.

Disclaimer: I do not own Paolini's characters no matter how much I cross my fingers and wish it.

* * *

Chapter Twelve

In the Face of Storms

. . .

_The storm had whipped and raged and beaten upon them as they sped down the icy black road-river. Floods of waters had gushed upon them. The streak of lightening that scorched a nearby tree had nearly sent Thorn crashing into oblivion. Save the quick reflexes that he had, they would have been lodged somewhere - dead - wrapped around some ashy tree who roots were plying away from the moistened earth that had held it in place for decades. Saphira remembered the pure fear that seized her then. Her hands had been like pliers clamping unto to Thorn's body as if they had been welded on. But the boy never complained. If she had dug into flesh she would have never known. He seemed startled as well, but in the chaos - the screeching rain and thunder and blazing white hot light...his eyes in their sea green state seemed unnaturally alive._

_He had turned to her then, the rain streaming from his face, eyes blazing in liquid colour and a curl of a childish innocence on the gentle smile he offered._

_"Don't worry, I'm gonna get us home..." there was such assurance in his voice, despite the tense fear, Saphira could not help but believe._

. . .

_Thorn had been right. Mere minutes later..._rather painful minutes_...they had finally left the winding black snake road. Riding down a freeway bordered by flat flooded pasture land, after few moments, through the blurred glass of the helmet, she could see amidst the blinding black - the blanched gray of a sloped horizon in the distance. There was a house..barely visible in the onslaught; but it was nonetheless draped upon the flattened peak of a shallow hill held in the smoky cloak of blinding rain. She saw Thorn swerve towards it, his motorcycle petering out from blinding speed to a more tolerable pace. Lightening, for a moment, illuminated the blinded rain fog that had clouded the structure from true clarity, but the most that Saphira could make out clearly was the burnt orange brick driveway that strung from the outer asphalt road and up the shallow slope like a winding snake; …the blurred house, its perceived end. Cold whipping through her skin and numbing her brain to silent babble, she clung further to the red head seated before her, and braced herself for the graded climb._

. . .

It was dark when the two had stumbled inwards. Had it been any other situation Saphira was sure Thorn would have been flat out groaning in pain from a thorough kick to the crotch, but given the circumstances she had to reasonable. There was no way he could have known that, that was her **_boob_** and _not_ the light switch. All the light switches as far as she could tell from the light that shot sporadically through the windows, favoured half mooned breasts.

"Shit, the electricity is gone..." Thorn's voice was cracked, jittery from chattering teeth as cold clung to their already frigid bodies. He flickered the light switch again to no avail.

"..the storm's pretty raging, so it might not be a good idea to brave it and turn on the generator out back." His voice was muffled as the door slammed behind him shutting out the terrific booming of the thunder and rain outside. He walked before her in the thickened darkness, water sogged shoes squishing against the cold dark wood flooring and still seemingly oblivious that he had grabbed her boob and not the light switch. Saphira, face still flushing, refrained from making him any wiser.

"Watch your step. Janie left some junk around here in the morning before I left..." the clarity of his words were lost as the thunder rudely clamoured about outside. Straining forward to hear his soundless moving lips, she accidentally bumped into him.

"Ow, I'm sorry...are you ok?" it was strangely he that was apologizing, but Saphira seemed not to register such, nor the dull ache in her forehead as it connected with Thorn's shoulder. Her mind was set upon the mention of another being within the house.

"Who's Janie...you're sister?"

"Oh, no she just my..." there was a sharp rattle that abruptly shattered through the rest of the sentence. Thorn seemed to tense up for a moment and the grasp that he had upon her hand tightened. His fingers then suddenly slipped from hers and she felt oddly colder as he released her. He stepped forward, and then abruptly turned back to her.

"I'll be right back. Don't move. " he paused a bit, his tone descending from the parental one which he had adopted to a warmer one" wouldn't want you to you trip over something..."

Saphira felt herself smile a bit despite her discomfort, but before she could even voice a witty reply, he had already disappeared into the thick darkness. She wanted to whine and beg him to come back...not to leave her there -but it would have been childish. It was already childish that she found herself even at such age, still afraid of the dark. Well, no not afraid...she didn't like that word. It was more apprehensive...yea _apprehensive..._so apprehensive she found herself paralyzed – eyes darting wildly across the room as lightning flashed dank gray light every few seconds.

Saphira had obeyed, rather reluctantly. The few moments there alone, cold and dripping with rain water felt like hours. She shivered, murmuring words of comfort to herself as the thunder shattered unexpectedly louder than it had ever. It reverberated through the house and as if in response she heard a crashing sound come from the pit of the dark further within the unexplored home. Another muffled sound rang through sounding faintly like a suppressed groan. Saphira had her suspicions but could not be certain if it had been Thorn.

"Thorn…god…hurry up…" she half whispered, knowing within herself that he could not hear her. The sound of her own voice offered comfort however; and Saphira found herself blabbering away, as her eyes slowly adjusting to the meager light that the lightning offered whenever it flashed across the charcoal toned sky.

The house was…brick…she could make that out fairly clearly despite the poor lighting. Whether it was dark brown, red or whatever, she could not tell..but it held an expensive, rustic air that was reminiscent of the early renaissance period . (So different from her own home that screamed, retro…punk…rebellion; it was a wonder how her father had tolerated her rather forward input in the house matters for so long). She noted a few picture frames that led into a wide dark hallway on her left, and the archway by the front door had been made by some sort of polished wood that clearly served as motif in the hardwood flooring and the expertly carved furniture neatly arranged about her.

She was in a living room by the look of things…or better yet, it could be better described as its older counterpart – a drawing room. The house or… cottage as it more favoured, held a rustic Victorian aura. It was one she could imagine accompanied by the soothing amber light from the fireplace she spied below a fancy stone shelf by the eastern wall of the room. The shelf appeared to be made of granite or...gray sandstone of some kind and held what appeared to be tiny trinkets. But…then again, she couldn't be really sure. The light that shot through the wide glass windows was so dim, it hurt.

There was a large television stand nearby, but instead of a wonderful flat screen tv accompanied with it, the space had been filled with books; rather_ large_ books that at the mere sight of which caused her head to ache a little. Saphira glared at them curiously, as the gray light brightened through the window again. She hadn't really taken Thorn to be an avid reader...Well, then again, she didn't know much about him, except that he was friends with Murtagh. The notion made her a little uncomfortable as she thought about being alone with him through the terrible storm. The fact that Thorn's house seemed to be in a fairly remote area was far from comforting. Her mind flashed back to that awful slasher movie she had watched her dad the other night...about some psycho guy with a hatchet. . . who lived in a nice little cottage, away in a pretty, green wooded place like the one surrounding the house, with a red bike...and red hair just like ...Saphira slapped herself for a moment as her mind wandered off into paranoia. The cold was getting to her. There could be no other explanation...well, that and, she had never been alone with a guy before. She didn't have that much male friends. Well, she never had much friends really from _any_ gender- plus the fact that her dad was a police officer made opportunity for male friendships lessen by...a _Jilllion_ percent. She fidgeted with the dripping knapsack on her arm, her mind fleeting to her father, sighed a bit with a frown then averted her gaze to the window and tried to think about something else. She could imagine her dad pacing her room upstairs, his mind creased with worry and screaming at the dead land line in frustration of not being able to contact her. She glanced down at the cell phone she had pulled from her pocket and gazed at the water logged screen for a moment, her eyes blue as rain.

_"Oh shit...!"_

Her gaze was so enveloped in thought and gaze that she hadn't even noticed when Thorn entered …rather, stumbled loudly into the room. Her phone clattered loudly to the ground and she practically wheezed from fright when she heard the youth tumble like a dropped bag of ripe fruit unto the hard wooden floors, swearing in delay. Picking up her phone, she stifled a laugh as she heard him grumbling to himself for not following his own advice of being careful not to trip over anything.

"You o.k...?" she questioned hiding the slight humour in her voice.

She heard him pant, and groan as he dragged himself up from the ungraceful display. By his embarrassed tone, she could imagine the stupid, embarrassed grin he had planted on his face when he belatedly spoke to her.

"Yeah...I'm ok. Erh…I got some matches and I found a lamp." He clattered over to her into the half light and motioned for her to come down the small slope that she had been perched upon. Saphira, surprised that it had even been there, stepped down the half stairs and trudged over to him. Thank god she hadn't moved before. If she had she was sure she would have found herself tripped down the tiny stairs, face planted on the ground.

Thorn got the lamp running in no time. Soon enough the living room was faintly illuminated in weak yellow light as a small flame emerged from the struck match and unto the the kerosene lamp. Saphira looked at it in surprise...it looked like something one would pick up at an antique store. Turning the lever, the flame brightened significantly and the light that shot through the delicate glass of the lamp shade was so bright it could be reasonably compared with a bulb. Thorn glanced up from his handiwork to see the look of surprise still planted on his counterpart's face.

"What never seen a lamp before?" his voice was kindly humourous.

Saphira snorted resorting to her dry humour. "Yea but not as old as this. It looks like it's gonna just fall apart and ...burn the place down - you do realize the floors and half the furniture in here looks flammable. Keresone lamp, those things are far outdated, man."

Thorn seemed unperturbed as he straightened to meet her shorter figure lengthily. "You'd prefer an electric lamp, then...?"

There was silence. And it seemed for a moment that she had taken offence, but soon enough Saphira burst out into a warm chuckle and slapped Thorn friendly on the shoulder. He seemed to take the abuse in good stride and smiled warmly back at her his dark red hair regaining some of its rich colour as it slowly dried.

It was then that Saphira noted the chunk of firewood that he had chucked into the cold fireplace. Thorn bent down by it, matches in hand.

"Need some help with that?" Thorn glanced up at her request, with curious sea green eyes as he bent by the fireplace. He then glanced down at the sparking wood in his hands as he tried to light it.

"No...its fine." He made a flicker of the wrist as if pointing behind him "I got some dry clothes out for you...its by the couch."

Saphira elated at the notion of dry clothes practically danced over the furniture he had motioned to...yet apart of her was apprehensive as to the clothes he had picked for her. She had never worn another boy's clothes before.

Imagine her surprise when she spied a perfectly cosy set of female jammies neatly laid out for her...with...matching _female_ undies. Saphira nearly had a fit.

"Uhm...Thorn."

The red head seemed entranced in his labour, murmuring 'almost there' as the wood continued to spark erratically. "Yea..." he murmured absent mindedly.

"Why do you have 'Girl' clothes...and girl's underwear...I thought you said you didn't have a sister." she blinked a bit..waiting for reply. _'Oh this was bound to be good...'_

"No..." he corrected, turning to her as the fire at last caught the cold wood and a weak blaze crackled in the fire place. "I said, 'Janie's not my sister...' I do have sister, she's not here though. She's studying medicine up north." Saphira blinked again more in surprise at the revelation...Thorn had an older sister.

"So, these are her clothes?"

"Yup...!" There was that child like enthusiasm again. It was a wonder Saphira didn't get annoyed. She was sure she'd be annoyed by now if it had been anybody else.

"And...this is her underwear...?"

"Ye-..." Thorn paused on that one. He then sharply cleared his throat. " There was a pack of unopened undies she'd ordered when she was on her break last year. They came two weeks after she'd left...so they've been in her drawer all this time. "

She seemed to melt in relief. The notion of wearing a stranger's underwear would be too unbearable even if her own were soaked and soggy.

"Assuming that you don't want to change here, there's a bathroom down the hall to your right." Saphira looked in the direction to which he pointed...and squirmed as she noted how pitch black it was. It seemed that unnoticed by her, he had caught the look of dread on her face.

"You can take my outdated lamp if you want..." Saphira found herself practically grinning in relief and grabbed the lamp from the smooth black ebony coffee table that it had been perched on. She picked up the clothes from its place and looked over to the fireplace to see the redhead chuckling at her and she had realized that he had seen the utter look of detriment that had been planted on her face before. Grinning herself, she playfully stuck a tongue out at him and teetered down the hall. All the while the smile remained on her face. No, Thorn was no psycho killer from that awfully written slasher movie she had watched. And...strangely, he didn't make her feel uncomfortable in the least. Finding the bathroom that Thorn had talked about, she turned the knob and stepped inside, the same strange excitement creeping in her gut. Tonight, she knew - somewhere deep within that irrational gut of hers- would be the start of something special.

-X-

It was a hub...of noises and beeps and clicks and the thunderous patter of busied feet along overly bright, overly sanitary halls. There was a cough..(followed by a fit of hacking) that sprung from the depths of the only room where the bright aqua screens had been drawn. In the past month this had been the only noise heard from such space...but today, it was filled with the dampened, hushed voice of another.

Dark fingers fiddled with the remote for a moment, sunken eyes slightly bulging from their sockets as the reporter pointed to the map and the path that storm had taken. It took a moment for him to find the volume control, but the bulletin had been written across the screen and already he knew his fears were materializing.

"Nasuada..." the cracked voice murmured. The tubes shook from his face as trembling hands continued to buck the volume. His figure, more bone than anything, struggled against the slumped position he had been rooted in for weeks; and after several minutes at such attempt, Ajihad finally managed to prop himself up to sit. The effort was only rewarded with sudden exhaustion and bony hands stretched desperately across the bed towards the oxygen machine. Dialing the dosage up, he slapped the mask unto his face and frantically gasped - eating up the air like a starving child. After deep droughts, a couple of rustic wheezes and testy coughs, he momentarily recovered. With the little strength that remained, fingers slowly dragged the mask from his face, choking on the chilled air of the dark room as the loud high pitched tone of the weather forecaster shattered the peaceful facade of the hospis.

_"Well it looks like the residents of the Nothern Alagaesia will be experiencing some serious rain and flooding tonight, after storm Angela now turned a category one hurricane, batters down on the tiny state. The residents of the north west of the state - Therinsford and Yazuac - will be subject to flash flooding and face the brunt of the storm while the eastern edges of Carvahall although partly shielded by the Beor mountains to the south will still experience the effects of the storm. Areas such as Varden are being watched fo...Burzz...Cackle..._

_Shhhhh"_

The frustration was vented in immediate obscenity hurled at the empty air as the television suddenly chipped out scraping the room with ear screeching static and fizzled grains of gray and white that fluttered erratically across the screen. Anger rose hot and was thrust with such force that the controller flew from his hand and clattered in a messy heap of broken plastic across the room. Such rash action was met with immediate consequence and using the last of the meagre energy that had been left in his thin body, Ajihad slumped uselessly against padded hospital bed. His body lay paralyzed by the exhaustion, eyes wide -round- empty; his mind racing and his heart half eaten by guilt and _cancer_. There were no tears - he was a man - he would not... But there was something there...something that stung through his core - rotten and twisted in his stomach. Head lay painfully contorted upon the pillow, gaze forcibly fixed upon the shiny grey metal and coiled white wires that spilled from the nightstand and unto the highly polished floor. The thing, looking dull against the dank light of the room was like a crucifix in his 'sinful' state. Hands strained towards the salvation, inching slowly towards the stationary object perched patiently by the nightstand...

_...The telephone..._

-X-

He had never slept with a woman before. Well, not that this would qualify him even _near_ such goals, and even _more_ importantly he didn't think about her that way anyway. But there she was, dark body curled against his, eyes shut fluttering in dream. She seemed at last peaceful in slumber as she lay beside him, arm entwined with his as if seeking protection or security of some kind. He never thought of such before, but she was admittedly beautiful in the dark as the bitter thunder shouted like a crazed woman against the windows outside. He held her closer, protectively, eyes part lidded in more comfort than slumber as he lay beside her in the large bed. The silky blue blankets were crumpled beneath them appearing iridescent in the sporadic bleached white lightening and solid dark that danced throughout the room. Their uniform jackets, shoes and knapsacks lay discarded upon the floor. The collar of his shirt had been unbuttoned whilst the rest of his uniform lay intact, badly crumpled but intact. It was in quite contrast to her disposition. Pieces of her uniform lay scattered about the room, damp by the downpour that she stood in before…when his brother had left her there in the rain.

The flutters of her nightgown she had dragged on cast flowery shadows against his own body as the light shot sporadically through the windows. He savoured the dark atmosphere, the feeling of his mother's sheets on the bed, the smell of spice from Nasuada's hair with her head propped comfortably on his chest. He could feel the gentle lull of her breathing as she leaned against him, the only warmth in the chilled air; a comfort of sorts. He had never had this…never experienced the comfort of another, the lullabies of a mother, the comforting hugs or soft words when wakened from dream by troubling nightmares – _Brom had never been the hugging, 'nurturing' type_. He had been much too young when his mother had died to remember such, if it ever had happened at all. This, embrace… was not quite it. In fact truly far from such loss, but it was something, and he appreciated it…treasured it, having never experienced it before.

Eragon had never imagined being this close to someone; much more, someone so seemingly guarded as Nasuada was. He realized that although he did not know the intimate details of her life - where had grown up, what were her favourite flowers - and those sort of trivial things , they truly were close…in a strange sort of way. Their relationship was muted but mutual. He cared for her deeply he realized. And while that unnerved him a bit, it brought a strange comfort to be finally close to someone for although his family was a small one, it was exceedingly distant.

It had been almost two hours, of plain stubborn persistence and creativity of what he would shout from behind the door, but finally between _'Let me in Nasuada the house is on fire'_ , _'I'll pay you, if you open the door…' and 'Holy hell! There's a **unicorn** out here, you've got to open the door to see it!' _he wore her down and reluctantly she let him in. There were no words between them, just her tears when he saw her slumped figure perched upon the edge of the bed. She appeared ghostly as her night gown fluttered erratically around her dark feet from the after draft that whistled in through the bolted windows.

He had sat beside her and held her. There was nothing to be said...and even if there was, Eragon found himself unable to think of anything to say and so had settled on in silence and wrapped an arm around her in a sibling like manner. He had held her until she had fallen asleep hours later to the racketing thunder and rain that shattered across the Manor, seeking security in warm embrace. He feigned slumber, unable to sleep through the racket, but held her close, eyes lidded and half afraid of moving as he didn't want to wake her.

The two were a truly spectacle to behold...even in the dark of the unlit room. Brown eyes watched through the ajar door, strung between worry, and another undecipherable emotion. Eragon had finally found a friend. That was news for celebration, but the complications surrounding that friendship he knew were bound to be poisonous, explosive and utterly deadly. The worst he found however was although the situation was not predictable in occurrence, it was inevitable….He, Fadawar, Nasuada, Ajihad…They were all players in a rabid, mortal game of chess with only one outcome – _disaster._

Brom stood, silent, observing the two from the hall. Such embrace he was sure would be viewed by others/ namely parents as hugely inappropriate...two teenagers huddled together in the dark, alone. Had it been any other two, Brom would have remote concern, but he knew Eragon. He knew his intentions, his heart. He knew that he was also **utterly clueless with women**…but he would have to have a talk with the two nonetheless – to be on the _safe _side – especially since Murtagh somehow seemed emotionally involved in the whole affair - and that variable to the already destructive equation made the situation hair triggered.

Brom had observed, from their very first encounter that Nasuada did indeed look very much like her mother...and Eragon like him at that age…And Murtagh…He found himself suddenly frowning, hands clenched. Brom remembered Sara...rather vaguely in the memories of college life. He remembered her only as Selena had introduced them once at an old cafe after class one day; Sara and her friend Ajihad, who he had already known from varsity basketball. And Sara who to his horror, he had spied in the empty study hall one night, eyes smiling, lips murmuring secretively, then suddenly pressed against those of Morz-

The thought was cut by a rude obtrusive sound. It pierced through the stillness, the peace of the scene of the two youths perched innocently upon the bed. Brom, panicking, saw his son shift abruptly, head whipped at the sound which rang loudly from his own pocket. Ducking further into the hall, he heard Nasuada groan a bit before reaching for the bleating cell that somehow managed to stay dry in his pocket despite having to walk up the storm laden driveway few hours before.

"Is someone there...?" he heard a sleepy voice drone from the bedroom. Brom squeezed himself further away, recognizing the voice of his son who he had disturbed and whipped the cell phone out, half suspecting it to be Miss Corvalls who he had previously broken up with a few days before. The woman was...desperate to say the least and he suspected that she had taken to the habit of stalking him whenever he walked the school halls. Brown eyes were however glazed in wide astonishment as they beheld the screen. He recognized that number, and with such recognition creeped a host of uneasiness that in the space of those precious seconds found itself lodged firmly in his gut. He put the phone to his ear, heart pounding, mind fearing the worst.

"Hello..."

"..._hello..." _The voice was cracked, hoarse, hardly human. _" ...Brom?"_

Brom cringed at the sound of his name. He frowned. "...Fadawar...To what do I owe the displeasure of such unexpected call?"

-X-

"So, is this like a club thing...are all of you in your little gang rich or something..?" Saphira slumped unto the plush carpet, squishing her toes into the surprising soft furs of some poor animal that had been skinned and placed in the centre of the warmly lit room. She found herself huddled by the now blazing fire with a crouched Thorn who had also changed his clothes…well sort of. He was half dressed, in an old set of thread worn jeans and …well…that was it. He was barefoot, and his whole upper torso was bare as well. Not that Saphira was complaining or anything, but she never imagined Thorn to be so…_built_.

He was a host of contradictions, bundled together in a package that only managed to puzzle her even further...but in a _good_ way. He was strange to say the least. Thorn, with the deep red hair and the sea green eyes, and the latest expensive Kawasaki bike, with the old, vintage house perched off in the woods, and the pile of old books and the brand new stereo system tucked under the book shelves; Thorn with the mature body and the childish enthusiasm and who so far to her surprise had been a wonderful host. Her stomach felt warm from the hot cocoa and sandwiches he had made for them both after they had changed clothes and they were now both roasting marshmallows by the fireplace. Well, rather unsuccessfully, the marshmallows that Thorn had rummaged up, had been in the cupboard for...well he actually wasn't sure. The expiry date had been smudged off - rather conveniently - and instead of smoltering by the fire, they seemed to spark erratically and occasionally combust; an indicator of how stale they must have been. But despite such waste, Saphira had to admit that she was enjoying herself. Idle conversation so far had left them comfortably babbling about their families and Saphira had soon learned of the two older sisters that Thorn had, and the _stray cat _that he had adopted a few weeks ago named Janie. She in turn told him of her distant mother who she only saw during the holidays and her father and his humorous overprotective tendencies. She purposely omitted his profession as she habitually did in introductions, but to her surprise, Thorn had already known and he had said that his favourite cousin had been a police officer as well. Saphira found herself smiling at this, most guys she told, always seemed jarred by the information and conversation often grew thin afterward. Thorn had been the complete opposite. Conversation between them had grown from polite babble to free flow chatter so much so that any onlooker would have mistaken the two to be close friends bonded by years of friendship. There were moments, pauses however that betrayed otherwise, that the two didn't really know one another and they were merely strangers, sharing shelter from the storm. Saphira whose attention had been suddenly seized by the flaming marshmallow on her stick completely forgot that she had even asked Thorn a question and looked visibly confused for a moment as he made reply.

"Nah…not rich," Thorn turned to her obviously bemused. "And we're not a _gang_ either; no guns or knives around here." he paused to rake his hands through now dried red hair. " -Murtagh and I have been childhood friends, the rest of guys we met around school over the years and we've been hanging out ever since."

"Boy Band then..?" Her comment earned a sudden laugh from the red head, but Saphira had an eyebrow raised as if not buying that they were not a rich gang stance that Thorn had taken. The flaming marshmallow burned with rigid intensity on the stick grabbing her attention once more. Getting frustrated she merely chucked the roasting stick into the fire and watched in disappointment as the childhood treat burned before her.

The dramatic expression of genuine loss on her face seemingly only managed to amuse him further and he turned fully towards her, unconsciously inching closer to her in the process. Saphira turned her gaze fully to the fire forcing herself not to stare incessantly as the amber glare from the flames caught the rippling tones of his taut body, broad shoulders and a toned everything else.

"So, what's the story, with the house then and the bike if you claim you're not rich…" Saphira slowly relaxed again finding her tongue loosened by the warmth and comfort that dried clothes and the roaring fireplace offered. She eased herself to lie on her side relishing the feeling that the fur carpet offered against her skin. Her head was cocked in his direction, keenly awaiting response.

"Well, the bike was a birthday gift…" He glanced down at her wide blue eyes that were gazing up at his sitting figure. "…from Murtagh." He watched her face twitch a little in surprise first and then obvious dislike towards the mention of his friend. It was no secret that Saphira did not fancy Murtagh. ...well, _she made it no secret_, and had plainly told him so when she spied a picture of them together in the hall after she had returned from the bathroom. Thorn could only smile awkwardly as she took to calling his friend _'the bastard' _for a few moments, but when he had asked what Murtagh had done to earn such abuse, she frowned, shook her head a bit and then had murmured something vaguely.

_'It's not what he's done, its what he's going to do...the poor girl.' _Thorn had strangely jolted inwardly when she said this, feeling his chest sink as he thought of the conversation he had with his friend merely few hours before and the advice he had given him.

. . .

_"What about Nasuada.." His statement was hesitant, as he turned towards his friend – noting the small smile that slivered upon his lips at mention of her name – then a look of what appeared to be sorrow swallowed it._

_"I'll have to…" He paused head shaking as a bitter tone clung wretchedly to his voice. "I can't do that to her, Thorn." He turned to him again, blue eyes sunken. "She trusts me…Her father is dying. She needs-"_

_"You need yourself." The friend stated lowly and firmly. "…sane."_

_. . ._

He had swallowed harshly in memory, eyes tensing as he gazed at her displeased figure, contemplation stirring within the confines of his mind. _Could Saphira have known?_

The thought lingered with him now, hesitation in the same as he noted the blank look in her eyes as he told her of the bike. He remembered mentioning the same to a fellow student at school, the guy nearly tripped from sheer surprise as he walked beside him. He was flabbergasted as he stared at Thorn incredulously for a moment, and rightly so. The model that Murtagh had bought...well...it probably cost more than most houses within the neighbourhood. But Saphira, like before seemed privy to the information some how...Thorn's brows were creased in thought as he gazed out at the fire, keenly roasting his marshmallow.

"You don't seemed surprised..." He voiced his observation, eyes still glued to the roasting pastry.

Saphira shrugged, "Every one in the school knows that Bromsons are rich...well...Murtagh." He nodded accepting the notion and handed her his roasting marshmallow as hers had been burnt so much so it resembled a dark black stone amid the ashy firewood. She smiled a thanks.

"And the house, well, that's his as well." This caused Saphira to choke in surprise a bit and she stared incredulously at Thorn who remotely smirked at her response. _That was more like it._

"...H-how?"

"Well, it really belongs to his family…erh, his dad I mean." The red head nodded poking the blazing wood a bit with the iron poker he had picked up from the hearth. Saphira seemed to recover a bit at the statement, yet still looked visibly dazed. She settled on commenting on Thorn's last statement.

"Isn't his dad dead or something...? " she paused weighing whether or not it sounded insensitive. Finding no fault with her tone, she continued. "Heard from the gossip at school that he ran off with some mistress of his when Murtagh was a kid and then died a couple months after."

Saphira was completely way off and not making her any wiser, Thorn merely murmured.

"Something like that.."

He momentarily stood up and snatched something from the stone shelf that hung above the fire place. He then sat directly beside her arm accidentally brushing against hers in the process. Saphira jolted a bit from the unfamiliar touch, and slowly sat up beside him. She soon recognized that the trinkets on the stone shelf weren't in fact trinkets but pictures in frames of varying sizes. Beside her, Thorn held one in his hand.

The picture looked a little worn, despite being protected by the polished wood frame that held it. Saphira could make out two figures however. One was Murtagh and the other Thorn. Both of them were dressed in fishing garb and behind them an extensive lake glistened. The sun seemed planted in their eyes as Thorn whose face was partly shadowed by the large fishing hat he wore held up the largest trout she had ever seen. He was grinning widely, while Murtagh had an arm on his shoulder pointing to him and smiling as well. Below, scribbled on the picture frame was _'Varden Champion – 1989' _

Saphira, utterly confused, glanced at the picture frame again, certain that she had read wrong. But the date she had seen before was correct.

"1989?" she questioned, the confusion still written across her face. Thorn tucked the picture in her hand, then pointed to the picture.

"My dad, and Murtagh's dad…" He then shrugged. "I guess friendship extends in generations or something."

"Jesus…" Saphira murmured in shock. "You guys…look so much alike."

"I actually look more like my mom." he smiled. " The hat kinda shadow's my dad's face a bit in this picture." He took the picture from her hands and placed it on a piece of the carpet that extended beside them. He then eased himself unto the furs in similar position that Saphira had been in before.

"My dad and his dad were great friends, they grew up together down south and moved north up Varden around the same time in their teens." Saphira nodded a bit, folding her legs together and lying down beside Thorn who was already reclined.

"This Lake House was the first thing that Murtagh's dad' s family bought when they moved up here. They used it mostly as a vacation house though…after his father died, Murtagh's dad gave the place to my dad and we've had it ..." he paused as if trying to remember. " near twenty years now..."

Saphira nodded, silently, processing the information. In all honesty she hadn't really thought of Murtagh...considered him this deeply before, that he was actually a person. She had taken a disliking to him in younger years, etched in memories of his snide behaviour, and occasional bullying of others...The situation with Nasuada seemed to only ignite it further..but now...it wavered, and she struggled for those intense feelings, having more knowledge of the dark haired boy. Her silence was...obtrusively long. Thorn deciphered her thoughtful look for a moment before taking out a picture that she had not noticed he had taken down as well.

It was Murtagh and Thorn, about seven or eight. Their faces were painted in bright birthday colours and Thorn wore a silly paper crown on his head which looked like it was going to topple off at any moment. Murtagh looked...happy - it was a look that she had never seen on his face, in her years of knowing him at distance.

"My seventh birthday party..." he murmured. Saphira held in her hands for a moment, remembering her sixth birthday. . . She hadn't had a party...she hadn't had a friend...she didn't remember that look etched in her eyes.

"You guys look..."

"Happy" Thorn concluded, "I know.." he paused, the smile in his eyes dampening to more mature gaze. "Things changed pretty fast after that day..."

Saphira remained silent, gazing at the seriousness that had cloaked Thorn's features.

"I know, that he may seem like an ass, but..." he paused momentarily. "He's been through a lot, and unlike what it may seem, he does have everyone's interest at heart."

Saphira looked skeptical, yet kept her mouth shut. Thorn glanced at Saphira for a moment.

"Even Nasuada..." he murmured. There was a look in his eyes...she had seen it before. It was the same one that clung to the gaze that Murtagh gaze Nasuada as they sped off from the parking lot earlier. She felt her throat tighten, and felt pity for her friend.

"He's going to break her heart..." she murmured. It wasn't a question, yet Thorn found answer. A guilty look etched in his features, he turned towards the fire once more; the amber light cast deep shadows against him.

"Yes."

- X-

"It's Ajihad..." the voice murmured, or more hissed. There was venom in it, yet it was the mention of such name that caused Brom to sober up immediately. He moved from the corner nearest the sleeping children, and slithered further into the hall and down the stairs. He was fearful that they may hear.

"Yes...What's happened...?" Brom's voice had lost all annoyance, and was filled with appropriate dread.

"He's..." there was a pause. "...He's on the last..."

Brom swallowed harshly as he reached the living room downstairs. The tiles were ice and the storm blazed in the background, tearing against the windows in the hollow dark. He felt suddenly cold.

"How long..?" He dared ask. His voice was a whisper. A fear had crept firmly in his chest, refusing to leave.

"A week...at most..."

Brom sighed, or more gasped. The world felt like it was swimming around him. And every fear that he had felt, now crashed upon him with a vengeance.

"Brom..." the accent was heavy as the voice murmured lowly through the phone.

"...He wants to see her."

* * *

Nope, gotta admit, this one, not as exciting as the others - no threats, or evil Elva's or anything lol.

Sorry about that, I do say that things are going to pick up though I promise. I've got some other things planned here, don't think I've forgotten about Elva, Galbatorix or even Morzan for that matter. I've actually pretty much plotted out a vague sequence to this whole thing and even started fleshing out a sequel. That is of course, **_If_** you guys would want one.

Strangely its the ending and the sequel that are more solid.

The sequel, which I've already named "Ghosts We Once Knew" based off the title from the song by Mumford and Sons "Ghosts that we knew", would be a bit more mature of course, following them when their a little older, like near 19, 20 or so... give me your thoughts.

AND don't forget to review!


	13. Chapter 13: Fringes of the Soul

I forgot to mention such before, but I got a new cover image for this story (done by a friend of mine) and my own profile as well, as you may or may not have noticed. Thank you so much for such Fast reviews on the last Chapter as well!

Ha! I told you I'd speed things up! *does happy dance*. The whole conflicts that I've conjured up for this story have got me pumped and I really hope that you guys like it even though we only see glimpses of it in this chapter.

_Had to update as fast as possible as an apology. T-T voodoodrum's review had me feeling terrible...8 months I was gone? *head falls in shame*_

Warning: This chapter contains references of Morzan - hints towards Selena's death, hints towards Elva, Murtagh being secretive, Fadawar being extra secretive in his villainous ways, A rare look into Brom's Pov, Nasuada receiving awful news, and Eragon...well...being Eragon. lol.

_**Important note: It has come to my attention that there is a bit of confusion with the character of Selena and Sara. For clarification - Selena is the mother of Eragon and Murtagh, while Sara is Nasuada's mother.  
**_

_**Also there has been a little more confusion with Selena because I used the same name for a teacher at Varden High that Brom was dating - 'Selena Corvalls'. To prevent further confusion I shall be changing her name ...not sure to what as yet...Any suggestions?**_

Note: For those who may have difficulty in understanding, the first part is a poetic flashback from Morzan's Pov, and it breaks off into Elva's. I wrote in in present tense to kinda give it a different feel from the other pov's and to show distinction. Also there is a lot of different Pov's in this chapter - something like what I did in the chap - Kisses in the Rain 2.

Well my loverlies, I really hope you enjoy.

**Also in the spirit of reward for all you lovely and loyal readers, the first three reviewers of this chapter will be first to receive the Fourteenth Chapter of Highschool before it is officially published (when I'm finished writing it of course).**

**Special thanks to all the lovely people that reviewed the last chapter! May the force be with you all.**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

Fringes of the Soul

_Pen to paper….pen to paper…fingers, letters…pages…pages…letters unanswered_

_Ink splotched - curdled against the smell of the caged walls. He writes…and writes and writes…and _

_Every single one…_

_….letters unanswered._

_Sighs…exasperation, his lawyer should have fixed this - this is too much _

_…..too much…confessions …dark-darkness…but _

"The boy needs to understand…he is young…too young; some day when older, he may have repercussions"

_The words of the lawyer scrape against his mind and he against will allows such shadow to spill into his words. Fingers scratch away at the scrap paper saved…and coins exchange hands into greasy palms of a guard. He knows the words will find him - his lawyer has arranged everything. (and yet apart of him does not wish it)_

_. . ._

_The boy is…older now…he's nine…_

_Nothing…he knows nothing about him; mind only left to fester upon lasting memories of their last encounter...The date of his birth lays etched in the wall by his own hands. He never forgets it._

_He's thirteen…_

_ Still nothing…He's gotten used to the idea of writing to himself. He finds himself liking the moments of quiet pained reflection._

_He's Fourteen... _

_…he answers…._

_…His son sounds nothing like the little boy he had left behind…he had grown. He recognizes such as the fingers brush against the painfully neat script of the reply…_

_He's sixteen…_

_Scarred fingers flourish more rapidly across the paper now…a habitual chore…a release from this surprisingly comfortable hell. He pauses mid sentence, blue eyes flutter quickly across the narrow cell in contemplation. The white washed walls of solitude seem to press upon him…He decides to tell him.._

**_. . ._**

_"I'm innocent…." The scrawl litters across the paper, followed by more ramblings that the hard gray eyes of the surrogate still do not understand. Her eyes flutter across the dirtied paper for the second time having gotten the letter some days before. Her eyes narrow on the curl of the pen on the words "gun…mouth.." _

"She was already dead"_ He writes. _"the blood was painted behind on the polished wood…she had eaten her own gun…"

_Sharp gray eyes widen, even having read the letter before. And again she thinks of the dark haired boy. Fingers abruptly close the letter not reading the rest…not reading the habitual fancy 'M' that was etched at the closing of the words._( the same M carved into the gate of the Bromson Manor)

_The dingy envelope encases it again and the words of Morzan are tucked away by slender pale fingers into the trunk of similar letters – and the lock clicks shut – signaling the sympathy felt towards the youth as well. Murtagh was not the same anymore. He was...different. He didn't want to do it anymore - Not even with their past. _

_She sighs, shivering as icy air shoots slowly through frozen cherry lips and gray eyes glance at the laptop before set before her, the clock ticks silently by in the corner. The dreaded hour nears._

_The dreaded 'beep' of a new message singes through the whipping wind outside, almost inaudible; but she hears it. She wishes she hadn't. _

_Elva remembers Murtagh's eyes - pleading, desperate when they had first met as children, young...naive. She thinks on them now, and how different they are. Those eyes, hard blue, don't need her anymore. _

_Fingers curl into a loose fist as the image of the dark skinned girl lingers in memory. Nasuada…the way he looks at her – the way he __never__ looked at her. Such care -such...connection to someone that didn't even know him - that didn't know half of what they'd been through. "Typical Murtagh, always adept at avoiding his own problems." _**_Always somehow becoming a part of her own..._**

_She glances at the screen again...and feels her stomach twist in fear. 'Masteroftheshadow' has sent her a new message._

"I assume everything is set for Monday..."_ she reads and slowly swallows the bitter taste rising in her gut. Fingers delay on the keyboard of her laptop, hesitant to type reply._

"Have you gotten the boy on board...?"

_She curses, wondering how she managed to be involved in all of this mess as eyes glance at the proposed question. "Damn you Murtagh..." The hateful words dissipate into the crackle of thunder raggedly beating against the rain swollen air outside. The white lace curtains from the windows whip like angry sails against high winded seas._

_Her withered gaze slips down the the floor upon the the dark mahogany trunk tucked in the corner beside her bed. It was the haven of the killer's words, every letter that she had received, the cause of all of this. The bitterness stings in her gut as her eyes linger on it, pondering over all the letters it contained._

_Gray eyes turn somberly from it - like a dying man glancing at fate - and her gaze returns to the laptop screen before her...her faint reflection shimmering in the pale light brimming from it across the darkened room. She stares at her own image that glares back - death black hair cascading elegantly down small pale shoulders, at cherry red lips that kissed too much...lied too much...at hard gray eyes that were slanted perfectly in deceit that for moments she even managed to deceive herself. She was a monster. She was..._

_beautiful. . ._

_The lightening flashes dangerously outside, thundering rumbling lowly in the distance. Monday...the constant reminder eating away at her even in dream. _

_Fingers tap against the keyboard finally, _"Yes, it was difficult but I got him on board."

_'Masteroftheshadow' is typing' Elva blinks, an unknown fear seizing her as the laptop beeps - 'new message'._

"For the sake of your mother...I do hope so Miss Fantismo."

_There is no saliva in her mouth as the screen of her laptop goes blank - 'Masteroftheshadow' has signed off. She wants to wail, the scream, to demand - why ...Why them..why her...why Murtagh? Why all these games...these letters - this secrecy...why did this person know **everything** - everything that only she and Murtagh had known and had kept secret for so long ..._

_She had lied and bullied him into giving into doing this for her...but truly it was so much bigger than her - Murtagh - had no idea._

_...Monday..._

_It would be the death of them..._

-X-

There was silence. It slipped across the broken driveway in ghostly serenity, reflected in the aftermath of the dreadful storm. Shrubs that had been tended to by the unseen hands of skilled gardeners were snapped and raggedly scattered upon the extensive lawn that now lay in a shallow pool of still grey water. The large oak tree had that stood over eighty years fixed like a flint lay heaved and dejected at the west fringes of the property – its roots were upturned and stared bleakly at the heavens as the sodden wood of its dark carcass was left to slowly dry in the coming weeks. Caramel toned shingles lay shattered upon the cracked stone tiles of the driveway having been massacred into submission from the roof and to more earthly state by the blinding wind and rain. A window by the living room had been shattered by a thin metal rod from a railing that had flown like a crazed cherub from its perch and split through the shutters and into the already tension filled home. Thankfully there had been none in the room at the time, but the tense rabid fear that sprung in hearts at the violent intrusion, slowly ate away at them as the thunder, rain and wind battered against the manor; and huddled in the darkness of their respective spaces, each body was filled with the weighted apprehension that they would not survive the night. It had been a harrowing ordeal, of tense filled bodies, of worry and fear and …hurt…and the terrible banshee screeching of angry lighting and thunder across the sky…but by the time the storm had passed in the rather slow painful half of the weekend all those in the Bromsson home had survived the _physical _ordeal…

In the aftermath of such event the Manor was a cold state. The figures of those who had not managed to garner sleep through the howling wind and screaming thunder stirred within their icy beds and had found their way through the shadowed dark of the clouded dawn to the unwelcoming chill of the kitchen. The silence spread between them like the a stirring plague that seemed to infect each being; and so they wallowed in the sickness the three of them – the Father and the two sons until the familiar dark ebony figure slithered into view lumbering from the stairwell and into the dampened space.

Nasuada seemed a statue in her loose pajamas - her face set in a blank expression that seemed permanently ingrained – neither wavering nor dissipating in intensity; but her eyes, they were not as pained as they appeared to be the night before. It took keen a gaze to notice such as she stalked into the silent room, but Eragon had seen it as soon as his hazel eyes met her dark ones, and the thought brought a sense of comfort to him. He smiled as she murmured a general 'g'morning' to everyone there - well everyone except Murtagh, who did not bother murmuring response either.

"Yes, 'morning my dear.'..._its just plain ole...Morning, unfortunately nothing good about it_." the latter part of the greeting was grumbled almost inaudibly and Eragon rolled his eyes at his father's pessimism while downing a glass of water. Murtagh who sat beside his brother seemed to busy with breakfast to take note.

"We're alive." the younger one sighed, his tone not in the least chirpy. "That's something good...plus the roof didn't blow off, that's another good thing too." Brom huffed grimly at his son's valid retort as he sipped at his steaming mug of black coffee, the newspaper high above his face, hiding his expression. It was unusual for Brom to grumble, Eragon had known him only to do so when extremely agitated, nervous or stressed. He stared curiously at his father's hidden face as he continued to spill melancholy about the kitchen.

"I can only imagine what state the school is in presently...No doubtedly if _our_ roof's intact...theirs must have flown off to the very edges of _Carvahall...!_" the paper flickered loudly and Nasuada who had been looking on as well could imagine him with dark worry slithered unto his creased brow. She noted his tone had a deadness about it, as if something had sucked the life out of his being. Her eyes narrowed in remote concern, but Eragon could only snicker.

"One can only hope...I'm in no hurry to go back there."

Eragon saw a tiny smirk slither across Nasuada's lips at his comment as she stood and got a ceramic bowl from the cupboard away from them. Her eyes glinted in humour as she visibly chuckled to herself and plopped her figure unto the seat again. He smiled a bit at this, surprised that anyone had heard him and his heart was little lightened by the gesture. He had not seen her smile in that dreadful night of rain and storm. A smile of his own planted on his face, he tittered over to the sink where the utensils had just been washed and came back with a spoon. Seating himself, he handed it to her from across the table.

"Thanks.."

Eragon merely nodded at the pleasantry and settled himself comfortably on his seat, leaning his head against the counter. Momentarily he closed his eyes.

Despite the moment of warmth and brief smiling, there was an unmentioned coldness that slipped through the breakfast ritual and each being seemed remotely uneasy in his position – the most was Brom. Already finished with his own breakfast, the Father seemed strangely uncomfortable in the presence of the now silent teenagers. The habitual and constant crinkle of the paper reflected such. One would have imagined him finished by now, but he had not turned the page as yet...He had been staring at the same page for god knows how long. Something was wrong...none of them knew what.

A sudden and rather loud yawn punctuated the silence that has stilled over the group. Nasuada turned from her gaze upon Brom's newspaper face, to the still yawning figure of Eragon. He grinned at her in its wake, his eyes swimming with drowsiness.

"Didn't get much sleep last night?" she suggested as she shifted on her seat that faced him. Her eyes were fixed on his figure, avoiding Murtagh's silent figure beside him.

Eragon shook his head in the negative, and rested his chin in his hands which had been propped against the counter. "The racket, the howling, kept me up all night..."

"You coulda' fooled me..." it was murmured in genuine concern, as she reached over to the cereal box that had been left on the table. It seemed that Eragon had not heard her reply, but Murtagh had. And a look of confused suspicion had smacked itself in the furrowing of his brow as he suddenly turned his gaze from the half empty cereal bowl that had captured his attention, to stare with narrowed eyes at them both. She ignored his staring and shook the box to decipher how much cereal had been left back for her.

"Eragon, could you pass me the milk please."

"..." he looked lost as he realized that the milk was right in front of Murtagh and not in his reach. Nasuada glanced up at the younger brother expectantly. He gave her a constipated look.

"Erh...Murtagh..." Eragon sounded almost pathetic, when suddenly the older brother got up from his seat, milk in hand, and walked around the counter. Nasuada stiffened as he stood behind her, her lips tight. Without a word, he leaned over her and placed the carton before her, then silently turned away and stalked out of the kitchen.

Eragon watched her as she stared at the carton afterward, a look of disdain etched into her features. She looked angry with it; it was as if the storm had not truly passed but had been swallowed up by her dark brown eyes. Her lips were twisted in a frown.

The intensity of her glaring was interrupted by the almost deafening rustling of pages. She turned to the sound, finding a silent Brom who had been head deep in the local paper folding it up and resting it on the counter. She wondered how he had gotten such a thing given the storm, but she noted the date...it was an old paper from the week before. An uncomfortable feeling lingered in her gut as she noted the headline. _'Famous Celebrity Diagnosed with Incurable Disease...'_

"Eragon..." The grave tone of Brom shook across the room, it reverberated and woke his son who had been dozed off in light slumber as he lay seated at the counter. Looking a bit disoriented, Eragon turned himself slowly and half glanced at the others at the table, yawning a bit.

"Eragon, could you go spread your bed please...I'm sure you left it as you always do."

"But, I didn't...I slep-" he swallowed his words carefully.

He could not tell his father he had not slept in his bed, or his own room for that matter..._He could not tell him that he had slept in Nasuada's room_. He nodded slowly and got up from his seat. Slithering past his friend and his father, he brushed a warm hand against her shoulder and squeezed lightly before drifting out of the kitchen. A small smile stilled Nasuada's face at the comforting gesture before she turned to her breakfast again. She eyed the milk carton hesitantly, before her stomach growled. Frowning, she reluctantly reached for the carton and poured some milk into her bowl. She dug the spoon into her breakfast, took a bite and began chewing.

"Nasuada..."

She looked up to see the pallid expression on Brom's face. Her gut churned subconsciously, her face falling. She knew there had been something wrong...It was evident in his eyes - the way they wrung out in wretched state. The expression she knew held familiarity. She just couldn't remember -

- And then she suddenly _did _remember.

Her heart froze in realization that it had been the face Brom had worn upon telling her that her father had cancer. Her blood was ice in her veins as her gaze flickered down to stare hollow at the granite counter.

"...It's my dad" She murmured. Her tone was questioning. Her eyes had already sunk in expected news.

"He isn't..." Brom paused not being able to say the word. "..not yet."

A sharp breath of relief singed through her, parting her tightly pursed lips.

"Nasuada...he's probably not going to make the week."

The statement shocked, and a horror lodged itself firmly in her eyes; the spoon clattered loudly from her grasp and unto the counter flicking bits of milk and cereal about. Her spit became acid in her mouth and the cereal tasted bitter as she belatedly swallowed.

Brom gazed at her, pity etched across his face. He should have waited. He should have waited to tell her. But he knew there was no time...no time to plan, to think. This was all too sudden -

Nasuada's face was held in emotion, shock. Silence filled the seconds between them. There was a momentary pause before Brom continued.

"We're leaving tonight to see him." he murmured finally. The words seem not to register to her, as her gaze remained fixed on the counter.

"The flight leaves...fairly early...You should pack soon." Brom almost stuttered, not accustomed to this side of the young woman. Her face, her eyes seemed dead...lost.

He slowly stood from his seat, unsure of what to do. Walking closer to her, hands reached out to touch her shoulder like his son had...but at last moment he retracted. Comfort would be of no use now.

He slithered past her, towards the kitchen door. He then paused upon the entrance. "I'm sorry..." he murmured quietly, the Principal tone in his voice had been utterly abandoned. There was guilt etched in his face, his tone. Nasuada remained fixed in position, not responding. Gazing at her figure for a moment, he sighed, then slithered out.

-X-

He could stand it. He had managed breakfast through her icy avoidance, the hurt in her eyes dissipating to thorough disdain over the night. He had even managed not to slump into the usual defense of daring smirks and snide remarks he would have on such occasion, instead resorting to silence. He had managed to bare resolve through it all...but _this_, it seemed he could not do.

Murtagh stood alone in his room, his cellphone in hand. The phone number stared back at him from the lit screen. It's gaze was piercing and he was frozen, his mind racing in contemplation. Elva's words stood heavily over him. This was something he _had_ to do. Yet there was hesitation...something in his gut told him that this was wrong...that this would be the death of him...of _all_ of them.

Fingers lingered over the call button for a moment. The wind whipped lazily across the curtains through the opened window that overlooked the grounds of the Manor. The shutters had been taken down from the windows by the groundsmen, and the soft light that broke through from the shadowed sun brought refreshing familiarity. The sky lay now in full view. The clouds had parted, breaking, vanishing into thin wisps of white and leaving the sky in a flush of cerulean. The storm had passed.

The notion eased his mind a bit...perhaps it was a sign that everything would pass now; that things would be o.k. His mind ceased its panic chatter, relaxing, yet his gut stirred, lingering in caution. He stood rigid, finger hovering over the dreaded button. Then clenching himself, he pressed it.

-X-

The hospital was no place for him. It was unclean...it smelled of disease, of death. The scent was a sickening sweet; one tinted with the delectable pungency of blood and bleach, and souls freshly ripped from their bodies. Hospitals made him uncomfortable, even more so, the end-of life-care ward. Fadawar clutched closer to his jacket and the *****taqiyah neatly placed upon his head. The nurses had become used to his presence now and didn't bother to ask who he was visiting . The buzzer whizzed through as he neared the door, and the door slid upon on its electric hinges in a sudden swoosh of compressed air.

When stepping into end-of-life-care ward, it was like crossing worlds. The screaming, the blaring of machines, the noises - of nurses yelling at patients, of patients squealing for attention, of orderlies wheeling around their screechy carts - all of that dissipated into the thick white noise of nothingness, occasionally punctuated with the subtle sounds of a faint ventilator in the background. It was like crossing into the void.

He felt a chill as the automated doors whizzed shut behind him, and that eerie feeling held him as the noise of the hallways outside were shut out suddenly, and there was nothing to be heard. Reminding himself just _why _he was here, feet belatedly moved, having taken root for a slight moment in hesitation...but his goal drove him forward. A smile slithered across his face as feet belatedly clicked across the painfully shiny floors of the sanitary hallway. He would have what he had come for...finally.

The papers fluttered lazily in his hand, waiting to be signed. And a part of him rejoiced, that this would all be over soon enough.

-X-

" I need it for Monday..." His voice was hushed, edgy. Humming to himself as he tittered down the hall towards his bedroom, Eragon suddenly stopped as he heard the tone in his brother's voice through the crack of the half opened door of his own bedroom. He peaked inside, silently, to see Murtagh standing in the middle of his room, his stance rigid, a frown etched into his brow. Eragon knew that he shouldn't have been eavesdropping, but couldn't pry himself away from there. He was held there by the tense emotion that cracked, rippled through the wavering intonations of his brothers' voice in conversation. His brother was nervous and that observation_ unnerved him_...Murtagh was never nervous.

"Do you have any in stock...Yes." A pause. "...no its for the dog. Yes I'd like them wrapped.." Eragon could hear the click of Murtagh's shoes as he paced across the space. His brows furrowed at his words.

"Zar'roc?" he questioned to himself, then his mouth clamped shut realizing that he had said that out loud. He tensed as a sudden void developed in the ongoing conversation and Murtagh became deathly silent. Eragon leaned closer against the door, his chest clenching and the click of Murtagh shoes tittered nearer and nearer to the door. Eragon found himself paralyzed, mind milling with things to say when his brother found him there ear pressed against the wall like a blubbering idiot. He swallowed harshly, as he saw through the crack, Murtagh's hand clench the knob from the inside. It was a murmur, but it was aimed with such deadly force that the words shattered through him, and his heart fluttered in result.

"Mind you're own **_damn_** business..." it was almost a whisper, and then the door was slammed harshly echoing roughly across the silence of the empty hall. Eragon jumped at the noise, his heart thundering in result. Embarrassment rushed hot through him, but with it there was caution. He found himself curious as to the conversation - but, conscience caught the better of him. He dismissed the funny feeling that lingered about him, and settled on to the notion that he should not have meddled in the first place. Slithering away from the door, mind lingered towards his other companion, wondering why she had not come up from the kitchen as yet as several hours had passed. Feet pattered down the hall towards the staircase, mind intent on finding her. . .

Certain that Eragon had gone, Murtagh put the phone to his ear again, his stomach in knots.

"Yeah, sorry about that.."

_"What was that noise?" _the voice was set in curious demand.

"Nothing, just my little brother and his bitch fits..."

_A laugh._

_The voice then slipped in previous tone."This, package that your asking for...how big -"_

The answer was immediate. "The usual..."

_"Ah, back in business then my friend?" _

Murtagh ignored the condescending tone set in it...it wreaked of the words that he had heard from such voice the last they had spoke. - _"...You'll be back. I know you will."_

The words anger him, as he realized that this person had been right.

"I'll pick it up tonight." His voice was grave, drained. He thought of Elva and he fucking hated her.

_"Alright then...tonight.."_

-X-

The afternoon had passed and evening was waning. Brom watched from the high balcony up on the roof, as the sun glimmered cool red across the devastation that the storm had left behind. The climbing roses that twined across the balcony had been stripped of their flowers, leaves, and now lay a mess of entrancing vines, giving the Manor a gothic tone. He had been here rooted in position from the morn, and now the sun was setting.

The manor admittedly looked ragged in comparison to former glories. And he found that there was a strange attachment that he felt to the place now, how many years later. He would have never had imagined such in younger state. This place had held too much of Selena...but in a fit of fresh anger, of hurt he had cleared it all away. And now there was nothing, save the painting in the hall that had somehow survived it all.

_'Let the dead stay dead'_ he remembered his mother would say to him whenever she found him in his father's room, fingers reaching towards the only plaque that she had kept in memory. She would then shoo him out and he would wake the next morning to find the plaque gone - hidden in some other dark corner of the house. He had been desperate to find it at first, but after months, the thought dissipated and he had moved on, finding the pain that had ripped through his heart lessened somewhat. And bleakly he had realized years later that his mother had been right.

He remembered the blinding red that singed through him upon the first night in the manor..when the court had tied him to this property..to the villain's child. He remembered in fractured pieces that he had drunk himself numb that night and in that blinding stupor - his mother's philosophy in mind - had ripped the paintings from the walls, tore through the clothes that she had left behind in her closet, dumping every remnant of her into the large bins out back.

He could not bare it, her scent upon the clothes, the shoes, the half empty perfumes, her face frozen in the pictures...the memories were too much. The image of her dead in a pool of her own blood with the villain crouched over her, feigned shock splattered on his face, his hands crimson, had been too fresh in memory. He had rid the house of her to forget, to pretend that he could do this...That he could live here, _love_ this...child as if he were his own young son - hazel eyes still innocent to the world. He did it to start over. He succeeded.

For years he had flourished, and had awoken from the ashes of tragedy like a blazing phoenix rivaling the sun. But it was moments like these, when death lingered too close for comfort that reminded him of her...and of the harrowing ordeal he had endured - not allowing himself to grieve.

His eyes glazed at the memory, as the sun hovered coyly over the horizon as if hesitant to set for the coming of night. There was a silent dread that nooked in the crevice of his chest as the sky darkened slowly as seconds slithered by. The night brought darkness...and with the darkness came death. His mind was drenched...sapped...death had found them again. The notion washed over him for a moment as the sun glimmered in last moments of blinding amber glory then died in a sudden flash beneath the horizon. He glanced at his watch, noting the time and knew that they should be heading out soon. He tore himself away from the darkening scene and could not help but note the sense of finality that stifled the air. He feared for Nasuada, and what the night would bring.

-X-

After looking practically everywhere, Eragon had found her in the foyer by chance, struggling with the suitcase that she had been pulling from the downstairs hall. Grabbing the other end of the bag, he helped her take it to the door. He noted the look on her face, and his heart sank. She seemed in a trance, lost, numbed over by some terrible outside force.

Nasuada had evidently showered, and had changed her clothes into something that was a bit too formal for the home. She wore a deep navy blue trench coat, with tailored dark jeans and equally dark boots. Her cropped hair had been braided up in neat corn rows and a black lacy scarf slung found her neck. Eragon glanced at her figure for a moment in silence...she looked like she was going to a funeral.

"I..." it was she who first spoke. Her voice was drained, raspy. "I won't be here tomorrow, or maybe even Monday." she paused as a look of utter shock and confusion smacked across her companion's face. Her voice was quiet. "...Could you take notes for me?"

"Nasuada, where are you going?" he half demanded stepping closer to her with concern on his brow. She glanced towards the floor, her eyes sunken.

"...I need those chemistry notes, and biology too...If anyone asks," she paused momentarily. "... tell them that I'm _sick_."

The worry etched itself deeper into the blond's face, and his mouth curved in silent demand. The discomfort that filled him churned further when she asked him to lie for her. There was a fear that crept into him; and the thought that found itself lodged in his heart stirred with such force that he dared voice it. His voice was desperate, hesitant.

"Are...are you coming back?"

Nasuada glanced up at him in absurdity, a brief moment of herself rushing through. "Of course..!"

She then sunk, and a look of apprehension shone through her expression and Eragon's heart sank realizing that she wasn't even sure.

"Nasuada..." his voice was edgy. "Tell me. What's going on..?"

Her mouth moved, but nothing poured out. She gaped out at him, her eyes misted in pain. Eragon looked at her afraid, when without warning, she stepped forward and embraced him loosely, burying her head desperately against his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her immediately in return and he could feel her shudder in embrace. His heart clenched as the dread that found itself swimming in his stomach crashed into reality. Her held her tightly, protectively, as if some invisible force of fate was pulling her away from him.

"You'd better come back..." he whispered harshly, his voice cracked in emotion. Nasuada didn't respond. Belatedly she slowly pulled away from him, her eyes damp. Without thought he reached up with a comforting hand and wiped the tear stains from her cheeks. She only stared at him as his hand lingered on her face. She had never seen such care, worry, etched into his brow before. Leaning forward he pressed his lips to her forehead for a moment and Nasuada was limp, her eyes closed, her breathing sharp and harsh; the pain lingered heavy in her chest. She knew now that_ he was her family too_ and it hurt that she found herself still unable to share her pain with him. Her hand lingered on his shoulder as he belatedly let her go.

The sharp intonations of expensive shoes scuffing against the marble tiles of the foyer cracked through the moment they shared and Eragon turned to the sound, his hands still holding Nasuada close. Eyes blinked as they saw his brother walking towards them, a fairly large duffle bag slung across his shoulder. His blue eyes were defeated, and they glanced the two up and down for a moment. Eragon stiffened as he swore a flash of what appeared to be envy flickered across those eyes for a second before dissipating into the sea of impenetrable blue that he was accustomed to. But it had been so fast that he could not really be sure.

Murtagh paused as he neared the two. His gaze was fixed on Nasuada's form, and for the first time she dared look at him. He saw the hurt in her dark orbs and froze. His gaze, guilt ridden, quickly switched to his brother.

"I won't be back until late...don't wait up for me." His eyes flickered over Nasuada again, his stance stoic and then he stepped passed them, the car keys jingling in his hand. Fingers clamped over the large knobs of the giant oak doors before him and he paused before it as if conflicted.

"Have a safe trip..." he murmured, his tone quiet. He then opened the door and without further word stepped out into the dark of the night. Nasuada and Eragon watched quietly as his figure disappeared into the shadowy darkness down the driveway towards the blue Pajero that had been parked out front. The cold air rushed upon them as they stared out across the shadow drenched property.

"Nasuada,"

Both teenagers turned to the greeting. Eragon smiled at his dad, while Nasuada looked utterly hollow as her gaze met that of the principal. Brom, dressed in a white cotton shirt and black linen pants, promptly stepped towards the two, a small carrion bag on his shoulder. He gazed down at Nasuada's large suitcase and a damp expression filled his features. It was unsaid between the two but he knew that she knew...this may be the last of her stay there.

Hugging her friend again, Nasuada nodded at Eragon, finality etched in her gaze and dragged her bag out the door. As Brom made to follow, Eragon stopped him, his hand reaching for his father's arm.

"Dad, what's going on?" His eyes were panicked, searching for an answer. "Where are you and Nasuada going?"

Brom did not turn to look at his son, his eyes were fixed upon the dark of the outside, the moonless sky.

"I'll be back, by tomorrow evening.." He murmured instead of giving answer. His voice was oddly parental. "I expect everything to be in order."

Eragon looked utterly frustrated. No one was telling him anything. His tone got sharp and eyes creased in irritation. "And Nasuada, is she coming back tomorrow evening as well?"

In normal situation, Brom would not have taken to the tone, and would have replied with equal venom, but in present he seemed not to have noticed such. He turned to his son, and Eragon slumped -The look that Brom gave was answer enough. It was filled with so much doubt...apprehension. It left the youth utterly silent and he could only stare emptily, ineptly as his father, murmuring goodbye, stole out the door. He watched the two of them, the father and the friend, as their shadows disappeared quietly down the open driveway. He watched, eyes hollow, heart strained as he saw the taxi that Brom had called drive up from the darkness of the front gate and towards the two. He heard the door slam shut, and the sound was unusually harsh, even at such distance.

He watched...quietly, impotently as the yellow glare of the taxi died into the dark navy hue of the shadowy distance as it sped down the long driveway and out the automated gate. Eyes then slithered over to the blue pajero, the outdated family car that Murtagh had been seated in, unmoving for few minutes well. It seemed he had been watching as Eragon was; watching them leave without proper goodbye.

In the doorway with the soft light of the decorative lamp glowing limp in the background, the Manor felt unusually large, and Eragon...suddenly lonely. Eyes fell silently as the last member of their strange family made to leave as well. He saw the flash of the blue slowly creek across the driveway, as if its dark haired driver was hesitant in his flight...but soon enough the vehicle was swallowed up in the night and Eragon did not see it as it inched out the gate as well. But he could feel it, the silent abandonment, and found strangely that he was more tethered at the sight of his brother leaving than that of his father and friend. There was something, something that Murtagh was hiding; no matter how his mind tried to justify, there was an undeniable ache in his gut that all was not right. He remembered the conversation that he had overheard and his heart filled with inexplicable dread. And Eragon knew, despite the absence of fact, that something horrible was about to unfold.

* * *

So its back on track with the main plot line! Hope all o' that was not confusing. Next chapter I hope will be an explosive one...but then again not too certain about how I'm gonna go about arranging and sorting out the different pov's and which pov would be best for which part. I will try my best to start that immediately however as these things take time.

So, Nasuada's on her way to visit her dad...while Murtagh might be making the biggest mistake of his life. . .but is Elva _really_ to blame? Seems like there's someone else behind this thing, and she only a pawn. *shrugges coyly*

Well, there's another chapter of HAIP for you guys. I really hope you enjoyed it. Please forgive any grammatical mistakes...I suck at reading over and recognizing them, and am totally paranoid of other people, other than you my virtual buddies, reading my work...especially in front of me.

And has anyone noticed how obssessed I am with '...' 's. I realize I write how I would read it in my head, with pauses on certain phrases and so on.

Remember: The first three reviewers will receive the Fourteenth Chapter before it is officially published! So get on reviewing guys! Oh and guys would like some feedback on the Morzan, Elva part...if its not too much trouble.

Until later,

- S.B.


	14. Chapter 14: The Memory of Scars

Congratulations of being in the top three reviewers...! - The Ultimate Murtagh Fan, Restrained Freedom, BrightWatcher

To others that Reviewed as well You guys are awesome and often make me blush! :D

Of course you do realize I love my flashbacks so there are quite a few...so to prevent confusion - The first part is present...the rest is flashback with moments of _inner_ flashbacks...

(o-o) Well, that explanation pretty much confused me as well..._poop_...

Ok so I put some little hints at the top of some of the sections of some of the paragraphs to indicate different days - so there's less confusion. Hope it works.

I know some of you will be happy to know that most of this chapter is in Murtagh's Pov. I decided to give Nasuada's POV a break, also to make it more dramatic in the coming chapter, can't wait! Things are speeding up guys, lets get the show on the road! I'm so excited for a certain point in the story. I'm practically itching to get there...! :D

Hint: There are more physical manifestations of Murtagh's hurt in this chapter...(compared to the visions of Morzan he saw in Chapter 11). Also we see more into Elva's past, and a bit more details towards their deal.

_**Warning: There are some mature themes here...and some people may feel uncomfortable I don't know. Even though the story is rated M, just thought I'd warn y'all.**_

**Summary: Murtagh's decision has repercussions...much sooner than expected.**

* * *

"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."  
― Rose Kennedy

Chapter Fourteen

The Memory of Scars, They Never Fade

_(. . .Monday. . .)_

_It was a flash -_

_A bang...as his body, limp, was flung loudly, roughly against the car bonnet by intrusive hands. Blue eyes stared wide with fright, fear. And his breathing was sharp as hot air whistled roughly through his lungs bursting from his lips in short gasps. The metal of the car was cold against his face, and his stomach clenched as his heart raced in solid panic. The hands brushed roughly against him in lawful assault, and he could smell the thick stench of tobacco and hints of gunpowder linger from the opposing figure that pinned him down on the family car. And suddenly, those hands stopped, lingering by his left pocket - and a sudden dread filled him._

_A pain seared through his trembling frame, as the crude hand shoved itself into his pockets, procuring a small parcel as the rest of everything else that had been safely tucked in his clothes, fell uselessly to the grimy asphalt ground._

_"Huh, What do we have here?" the voice was gruff and laced in suspicion as grubby fingers rattled the parcel around in high view for a moment; narrowed eyes inspected it in the light. Murtagh, utterly dumbstruck, remained silent - he had never seen that parcel before in his life. . ._

_His silence seemed to irritate the officer._

_"This yours, boy?!" There was a ringing echo as he suddenly screamed at the teenager with ear splitting clarity. "What kind o' drugs are these?!" He pulled him up suddenly from the car and banged him roughly against the bonnet again. Face hitting the metal with a solid rap, a sharp groan elicited from the youth. The noise only seemed to anger the man even more._

_"I said, where did you get this,_ Rich boy_?!"_

_Murtagh lay crumpled in the large man's grasp, too shocked – scared to say anything. The other bystanders - the mothers, housewives loitering in the busy parking lot, all stared, horrified, whispering roughly, murmuring with their voices - the harsh judgements. He could see his brother in the far distance of the supermarket's door with hazel eyes seared in open shock and horror as the cold metal bracelets clamped around Murtagh's wrists; his face still pressed roughly upon the icy bonnet. The sound was soft...merely a faint click, but it was one that echoed of a sealed fate and certain doom. He thought of Elva, and a solid white chill shot up his spine, racking through him as the officer's voice droned out in the distance. . ._

_'You have the right to remain silent...anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law...you have the right to an attorney..."_

_A sudden lull enveloped him, as mind tried to grapple with present reality as he was ushered into the police car. The officers words were mere blubbering to him... Mind was lost, dazed, but his gut clamped with solid and bitter comprehension._

_. . .and he knew that this had been _**her**_ doing._

-X-

_(. . . Saturday Night. . .)_

He had come home back to the dark of the house two nights before, somewhere in the ungodly hours where there was none awake. The manor, ghostly in appearance, had creaked in hushed voices of old wooden doors and unlatched windows rattling slowly in the hapless wind. The moonlight was a shimmery grey that stole across the shadow drenched foyer as the large oak front doors shut silently behind him. Yet the breeze slithered through, beneath the cracks, spreading its iciness across the lonely space. Murtagh stood in the scene, feet unmoving for a moment...And he really thought about what he had just done. He had come back to it all, despite all the effort, the pain, and suffering he had endured to pull himself away. It had all been for nothing...The wounds that he had thought forgotten, healed, were slowly being unraveled... reopened; and there was a residual pain that dug its way into his very core, staining his very bones in the rippling melancholy. It was that brute acceptance of the injustice that had been done to him. But there was no more blame to be thrown about...Murtagh knew and while he hated her...he now hated_ himself_. It was he now...not Elva that had traded all oaths, all promises, all...that change, for the very life of destruction that he had abandoned. _He_ had destroyed _himself._

Fingers clutched tighter to the duffle bag as it suddenly felt heavier, as if it contained...embodied, every promise he had broken...of _never again...never, never again..._to Thorn...to Brom...to himself. Eyes closed as the ache tightened in his chest, and he felt as if there was some hand squeezing the life-force from his very being.

A sigh, misty white in the ice air, whipped slowly from his pink lips, and almost begrudgingly feet moved forward, trailing into the living room to head towards the staircase. The house was wrought with shadow wraiths of past imaginations lurking in the corners of each crevice. And Murtagh remembered the faces he would see in those dark spaces, of goons and ghouls and devils and..._him_ in younger years. The thought had him clench unconsciously and he immediately shunned the now clear images that threatened to spill into consciousness. He would leave those things in dream...as had now become habit - when he would wake at midnight or even later to the sharp gasps and heaving of his own chest as he shot of nightmare, heart racing, mind clawing for reality with the burning memories of _'Morzan and that ragged sword'_ searing against him. Eragon had always been asleep a midst it all he had imagined as he now imagined him in such state. He was _always_ asleep...always oblivious to the dark happenings of every wrong that had happened in the house. He envied his ignorant bliss as he laboured silently up the stairs, the filled duffle bag slung carefully around his shoulder. He slithered past the second hall, like a shadow. Catching glimpse of the family portrait perched high upon the wall, he thought of her, Nasuada, and wondered about what horrors she was enduring presently.

Murtagh had seen the look on her face, drained, and a sympathy had stirred within him. And for a moment he found himself regretful of the hurtful resolve between them. He knew that it had been her father...her face, her hollowed eyes had told him - and he felt for her, as her loss although inevitable, had come painfully sooner than expected.

He swallowed harshly, forcing the image of her out of mind and the confusing emotions it brought along with it. She was territory that would see them both hurt beyond words...but there was a nagging truth that lingered in mind that with or without Nasuada, the decision he had made this night would be the fated blow for him...for them all.

He neared the door of his own room, forcing the notion out of mind. There was an ache that crept up his frame different from the ache that seemed permanently lodged in his chest. It rigidly stirred across the expanse of his back and he clenched himself knowing the familiarity of it. He half prayed that it would go away...yet apart of him knew, like the situation with Elva - it was only the beginning.

The hall was pitch black and he had to feel his way towards the door...but this was a skill well practiced in years before and he found the familiar wood easily. Turning the knob he practically hobbled inside as the pain rippled stronger through him. There was a grunt as he leaned against the opened door a moment, cooled sweat slicked across his face and his breath hitched in his chest. The pain was crippling and he slumped fully against the door, causing the heavy wood to abruptly shut in a sharp click behind him. He held his breath as the pain stabbed in an agonizing spasm and he stood paralyzed by the mere intensity of it.

Seconds passed however, and soon enough it slowly faded to a reasonable throb. He breathed in the same moment, inhaling desperately and raggedly as if the oxygen had run out of the room. Sighing harshly, his hands falling, he dropped the duffle bag to the floor as if it were on fire. And despite being unable to see it amid the pitch black that engulfed the room, he glared at the dark space it held as if it were some unholy object in sight. Hands clenched abruptly in an array of bulging veins as the pain ripped through him again; and blue eyes were set in panic, knowing that it was all happening again...

The dark leather jacket he had worn slipped off his shoulders as he stumbled over to his bed. His shirt followed in the same slithering ungracefully to the floor. And feeling exhausted, Murtagh slumped into the soft comfort of the pillows and spreads neatly arranged on the mattress. He lay eagle-spread. Eyes stared hollowly at the ceiling as the pain sizzled hot against him. Pale hands clutched tightly to the sheets and all energy was forced to still frenzied mind to into reasonable calm. Cooled breath whistled slowly, deliberately through parted lips. His chest heaved in rhythmic thumps as if some invisible weight pressed upon him. His whole back ached...but it was the scar that draped raggedly across his back that embodied the ripping fire, that burned and stung and ached and caused him to tremble, as if in fever. Tentatively turning on his side, blue eyes met the door, and gradually lingered towards the spot where he had flung the duffle bag. His eyes were a burning blue and he felt himself swallow harshly as mind was consumed by the devil bag and what lay within it...

Mouth dry, mind racing, his body pulsed in silent agony... and there was an_ urge _that stirred in his belly hot and strong as he gazed into the dark space...It crept like fire into his chest, mind; burning raw with ferocity. It was one that had not seized him in what had been forever, so that for years he had forgotten about it entirely. He strained himself not to...but he could feel will fading as the hot pain sizzled through him like electricity. And although mind was utterly turned from such, his body ached for it...for the relief it would bring.

_"...You'll be back. I know you will."_

The words were clearer than they had every been. They hit him...smashed against his cracked thoughts...

Murtagh shattered, along with all the will that had been slowly fading, disintegrating from Elva's threats.

He stumbled from the bed towards it...half crawling on the floor like a desperate man of the desert clawing for precious water. . .

There was an eerie silence, as if all those invisible eyes within the manor held their breaths and watched in the depth of dark of the bedroom as Murtagh lay outstretched on the floor... grappling towards his doom.

-X-

_There had been blood._

_It had been too much...It had run, poured, sprayed, flowed from the child in rivers. He had been screaming from before but now, there was nothing...the paramedics that had brought him here, said he had passed out from the blood loss. They said that he would not make the night..._

_They said that they had already given him two blood transfusions.._

_They said...that he would die._

_The adult...brown eyes still wide with fresh horror, watched from the wide glass windows in the hall as the little boy, lay like a dead man upon the hospital bed. He was wrapped, precariously mummified in a cocoon of bandages, half of which were blood soaked. The doctors had managed to stop the bleeding with emergency surgery, but the bandages would have to remain untouched for a day to prevent the huge wound from reopening again. He watched...feeling nothing...nothing, but an urge...a need to save this little boy. He thought of his own child and felt his heart clench._

_Hands pressed against the glass, and the memory of her was sharp...piercing. He could see her now, Selena. He could hear her voice...he remembered her lifeless, with the villain bent over her, the gun on the floor...the sharp hue of her blood stained upon his hands, his shirt...His blue eyes pierced out like icicles and he knew then that he had looked into the eyes of pure evil._

_Brom swallowed harshly, eyes turning away as the words of the doctors sunk in. This little boy would die...It was bloody Thanksgiving Day...and what the hell was there to be thankful for..._

_Life had handed nothing but death...death and more pain._

_Brom sighed, and watched and waited for this innocent soul to pass...perhaps into some measure of peace and escape the cruelty of this world. It would be mercifully best if it were so, as he knew there would be no place for him...if he lived._

-X-

(. . ._Monday. . .)_

It was Monday...The notion was heavy in mind as Murtagh woke that morning and milled around in the shower. He had half a mind to stay home as Elva's words hung heavily and dreadfully over him.

_"I want the **stuff** by Monday."..._Yes, he had half a mind not to show up...He wouldn't be missed much. He was sure of it...yet he feared what she would do if he did not comply exactly to her demands. Hands slipped over his face for a moment, brushing back the wet black hair that had swept over his eyes as the cold water of the shower beat down on him. The ache in the scar had simmered to a low throb, aided by what he had grappled for that Saturday night...He had awakened the Sunday morning his back raw and sore, yet it was nothing compared to the horror he had faced, as this faded ache was nothing compared to Sunday's discomfort. Mind having been eased from such encounter, what he remembered now were Elva's threats. They were crisp, clear, ringing, as if she were shouting them at him presently. He remembered her calling Nasuada the _'black whore'_. He swallowed harshly at that one, eyes glowering to angry slits. Murtagh didn't know _why _he was so angry about it, and yet frightened at the other biting words she had spat at him...he just was.

Brom and Nasuada had not yet returned and would not be returning until Tuesday. Murtagh honestly did not mind having the house to himself. He would be lying if he said it didn't made life easier, not having those disapproving judgemental eyes of his stepfather...or those angry hurt, accusing ones of Nasuada always in sight. Sure it was easier, not having to purposely avoid her all the time, or watch her avoid him all day, ignoring his very presence as if he did not exist. Sure it was a hell lot easier...but it was so...lonely and made him realize how awkward he and his brother were together when alone.

He remembered breakfast on Sunday morning, after he had slithered in with the duffle bag in the wee hours of the dark Saturday night before. He remembered that he had found Eragon alone in the kitchen, eyes dark, with exceedingly large bags under them. Murtagh had eyed him silently from the kitchen window for a moment, before daring to murmur 'g'morning' as he walked in. . .

. . .

_"Was that you...?" Murtagh looked up at him from the pancakes that he was presently devouring as he sat silently before his brother at the kitchen counter. " Were you groaning or something last night? ...I could almost swear I heard someone wailing as if in pain..." Murtagh suddenly stopped chewing, he nearly choked on his food. He looked to see Eragon's haggard face staring expectantly at him. The morning light streamed warmly through the window, tethering the atmosphere with hints of yellow sunshine._

_"No...maybe the t.v. was on downstairs or something..."_

_And with that half assed lie, he returned to his food. Eragon looked unconvinced but said nothing. Instead he turned to stare at the house phone at the farther end of the kitchen as if it would explode before them and he would miss it if he looked away._

_"How long have you been downstairs...watching that damn phone..?" Murtagh's tone had been appropriately scolding, cold almost. Eragon flinched at it...his face embodying that same worry that had etched itself into his mind when Nasuada had left the night before._

_"Practically the whole night...I didn't sleep."_

_This shocked Murtagh, whose bright blue eyes widened for a bit, as they suddenly met those of his brother._ If Eragon wasn't asleep...that meant he had heard when he had come in last night. He had heard...he had probably seen as he huddled the duffle bag up the stairs, grimacing as the pain slapped him like a boulder.

_"That's..." he had paused momentarily after a phrase of silence. "...stupid."_

_Eragon had rolled his tired eyes at Murtagh murmuring to himself that he wouldn't **'understand'.**_

_Murtagh had heard...It annoyed him._

_"Yeah, I understand." he had said harshly. "But you're being stupid." He concluded. "The phone's not gonna ring any quicker if you stare at it...you'll just end up wasting a whole day. She's not gonna call - not for now...she's with her father." His voice had tapered out into a quiet tone, as if he were suddenly swallowed up in deep thought. Eragon seemed jolted by his words however, particularly what he had said last._

_"She's with her father?" He swallowed harshly. "How do you know that...?"_

_"Did she tell you?!" His tone had been set in edgy demand and the younger brother had looked slightly deranged as the lack of sleep made him utterly irritable. Murtagh looked bit disturbed as he noticed that his brother had begun jittering._

_"No...she's not talking to me remember." Murtagh murmured, his tone a bit subdued. "But...where else would she flying out to at such short notice?"_

_Reason seemed valid enough and momentarily Eragon slumped into the same calm, tired state that his brother had seen him in before. He sat back on the kitchen stool, fingers stretched across the counter. He looked terrible with the heavy bags under his eyes, his whole face looked utterly exhausted and his eyes were tinted pink in drowsiness. Momentarily he glanced back towards the phone, but his gaze did not linger. He turned back to his older brother, who had gone silent as he tackled the last of his syrup drenched pancake._

_"I don't understand, you two were getting along fine, finally..." his voice trailed off as his tone was drenched in genuine curiosity._

_"Why...did you hurt her though, Murtagh?"_

_The question had hung in the space between them...It had been too serious. Murtagh had not answered him._

_. . ._

"To save you and Brom in your blissful ignorance...to save _myself_." Murtagh murmured now, as pale fingers tinkered with the shower nobs. The water momentarily turned off. The air was cold against his water drenched body as he swung back the shower panel. He belatedly yanked a towel from the rack. Drying his hair first, he then gradually made his way down to the rest of his body. Half stepping out of the shower, he suddenly froze as he saw his nude figure in the long, full mirror in the extensive bathroom. More importantly...he froze as he saw the scar.

It was brutish, long...an extended from one end of his back to the other. It rippled along the muscles of his back and though it had faded in complexion over the years it was still notably fleshier and darker in tone than the alabaster tint that captured the rest of his skin. He swallowed harshly, staring intensely at it for few minutes well, before fingers dared to touch it. It was smooth...and had gotten relatively flat over the years. But this was a wound that had scarred him inwardly as well...one he doubted that would ever heal. In theory, the wound did not pain him. It had long been healed by his body...but there were moments...unexpected ones, where his heart would flutter, and that agony, ripping in intensity would seize him in the wound and tear through every nerve, every muscle in his back...until he trembled, begged for death. Saturday night had been the first episode in two whole years...just when he had finally thought it banished for good.

The very first time that this had happened, he had been eleven, when Brom had been out at the groceries with a ten year old Eragon, and the mail had arrived. He had seen the envelope with the 'M' etched neatly across it...and he had known then, that despite all the promises of police men, of nurses and Brom.._.his father had found him_. And although he had hid the letter then, telling none of it, no god in heaven could have convinced him otherwise that the monster would not escape the confines of state penitentiary to come for him and murder him. . .The nightmares had begun then and soon after the visions.

This incident had been only the beginning of such horrors. There had been too many trips to the hospital...too many doctors saying they could find nothing...too many pills. The pills didn't help..and then suddenly they _did _help..dulling the pain for a time...and for a time - he felt nothing entirely and found himself in bliss. Until he was thirteen...and another letter showed up...and stable life being threatened to frenzied turmoil again, he had sold his soul to her then...Elva.

Murtagh sighed in memory as he observed his lithe figure, his hand retracting from the scar. The wound was large...a pain, but it was apart of him. And he had learned to cope it and live with it, rather than brood upon such hurt and have it fester within him. But nonetheless it was there, unhealed and stale...and _crippling._..

"_Heyyy! We're gonna be late again and I have a test...Get your ass down here!_" He heard Eragon's muffled tone ringing out from the hall outside his door, and the dampened sound of his footsteps as they hurriedly scampered away. Murtagh sighed, mind again consumed with the future events of the day. He swallowed harshly as he draped the towel around himself and stepped into his room. His clothes had been laid out on the bed already from before and he dragged them on momentarily.

Murtagh as usual was dressed in a flash...he could almost be described as sharp...except for his sleeves. It was the cuffs that he always had a problem with. Not only was he utterly daft at buttoning them himself, they always somehow felt stifling to him as they were fixed around his wrists. Murtagh smiled a bit at a childhood memory that came to thought - of Eragon helping him to button the cuffs of the stiff white cotton shirt that he would wear to Sunday mass- out of the memory of his mother. Well..._when_ they actually went to Sunday mass. It was Brom who had told them that she was a devout Catholic. But as usual, over the years those efforts had faded, until they were gone completely and there was nothing left of her...save that album. It was he who was keeping her alive...the only one. It seemed to him, at moments, Eragon and his father had taken to forgetting that she had ever existed, only remembering her on special holidays, if even then.

Slipping on his shoes, he remembered the brief conversation that had passed between the same father and son, when Brom had called last night. He remembered that look of desperation that had stilled Eragon's face when he had answered the phone to discover that after practically the whole day of waiting by the phone, someone had finally called. The younger brother had been in the living room then when the phone had rung. . .

. . .

"Hello..?" Eragon's voice tinted in dared hope as he put the phone to his ear.

"_hello..."_

Eragon had nearly jumped out of his seat. He had clutched tighter to phone then, immediately clicking the speaker button as Murtagh had walked into the room. He momentarily placed it back unto the receiver.

"Dad..." Eragon did little to hide the anxiety that rippled through him. "How...How is Nasuada? Is everything ok? When are you coming back? Are you coming back tonight? Is Nasuada coming back as well?" The questions were more ramble than anything and Murtagh had to shake his head a little as he neared his now standing brother, tense above the phone. He refrained from commenting however, knowing that the same anxiety rippled through his silent being...And although lesser in desperation, it held equal concern.

Strangely Brom seemed unphased by the anxious demand from his son. His tone was blank, void of colour.

"We'll be staying a day longer than expected, so we won't be back until Tuesday."

"Wait, **_what?_**" Eragon looked as if someone had hit him in the face. Murtagh however remained impassive, his arms had moved to fold cooly at his chest. Eragon did not even notice that he had stalked into the room as Murtagh remained behind him, listening silently to the conversation.

"Is something wrong? Why do you have to stay longer?" His voice was jagged, dosed with concern.

There was a pause.

"We..." Brom cleared his throat a bit. " We have some things to sort out..."

And that was it...there was no other explanation; no hint to what was happening. Eragon could only groan in frustration, falling back into his seat in the same.

"Can I speak to Nasuada?" Eragon murmured belatedly, his tone subdued. Brom seemed not to hear...or rather, pretended not to.

". . ."

"Dad...is Nasuada there?" he asked again.

"No." he answered too quickly. Eragon frowned...and so did Murtagh. It was obvious that he was lying.

"No..." the father continued. "She..uh... she went to get something to eat."

". . .Dad, is everything ok?"

"I uh,...I'll keep in touch. I want the both of you at school tomorrow. I don't expect to hear about any of you being absent; it isn't vacation."

Eragon didn't reply.

"Goodbye son.."

"Good-" the phone had already clicked and the call had been cut off before he had even chance to reply. Murtagh saw the look of bitter disappointment slither across his brother's face and he felt for him. He had waited a whole day, deprived himself of needed sleep, only to have every fear, every question that had been eating away at him, unanswered and his anxiety only further intensified.

. . .

Such notion caused Murtagh to pause for a moment as he stood now, fully dressed in his own room. The situation with Nasuada worried him...and Brom's conversation with his brother only managed to quadruple it. _There was something wrong..._

It seemed his bloody gut was on over drive this week. It seemed there was _**always **_something wrong. It was either that or his keen sense of impending dread had gone a wry and had stopped working altogether...signalling him in moments when there was nothing to be worried about. But as Murtagh reached for the devilish duffle bag that he had left by the door, he knew deep within himself that, that was not the case. It was life that suddenly got way too fucking complicated all at once, and every bad thing imaginable seemed to be happening to them all at the same time.

"Murtagh!"

He could hear his brother's voice ringing from downstairs in impatient frustration.

"Yea! I'm coming dammit!" He rolled his eyes, as he raced out the door, and down the hall. There was a hesitance in his bones as the tottered down the stairs in hurried movement. The duffle bag swung heavy in his grasp...a constant reminder of _past weakness_... and future detriment. And although mind had gone half babbled denying the notion in his very core he sensed that indeed Monday would be a very bad day indeed.

-X-

She was evil. Well..._was _she?

Elva found herself contemplating such even more each day...and even more so this one. The dreaded hour had come, and there was no turning back now. She waited patiently by the spot she had told him to meet her and a part of her ...a tiny _tiny_ part...did not want him to show.

The morning was an ordinary one. The sun littered weak rays across the football field behind the school and cast soft shadows against the bleachers. She clutched tighter to the small jacket she had worn that day as the cooled autumn wind whipped suddenly across the grassed space and shifted a bit on the hard seat of the benches. Elva remembered...well...remotely, when she had first met Murtagh as a child. It had been unusual circumstances...one that had drawn both their fates together; intertwined them in mutuality. Both had been dependent on the other's survival for his own. Now however...fate had them enemies in such regard...Elva needed Murtagh gone, to save herself...her mother.

The thought of such relative had her clutch tighter to the jacket again although the wind had died to a sudden absence. Another three years had been added on to her mother's sentence - for selling dope in jail. "Wrong place at the wrong time. . .I swear those guards have hawk eyes or something" her mother had told her through the plexiglass of the Varden County Prison. Her eye had been bruised - fresh welcome to new housing by fellow inmates even though the place was practically home to her.

Elva sighed, lengthy black hair whipping behind her in the soft gale. With her mother, it was always the wrong place at the wrong time. She had been in and out of prison since she was seven, and well, she had become used to living with her foster parents, only thinking about her mother whenever she happened to be randomly mentioned at some family gathering...and such occasions were rare indeed. But there had been a moment, four years ago, when all of that had changed.

. . .

It had been her twelfth birthday when the letters came for the first time, and Elva was not pleased to have to think about Murtagh on such a day. He had owed her a favour...one that she had said she could claim at any time - one that she had not yet claimed. She had always found absolute pleasure in thinking about all the devious things she could ask him to do...and he would _have _to do it, or the deal would be off. She never understood why someone could be so naive to give such unimaginable power just to get rid of some letters...i mean there was always the fire place or the trash can for such things. But he had told her then that he couldn't risk it...his stepfather seeing them _- he would get into a rage -_ he had said. Elva did not particularly care, and she had never asked more about it - the mere mention of the power had already had her convinced from the moment he had asked.

The power of such had caused a slight smile again, to otherwise dampened mood of such unwelcome intrusion. That boy, although an old acquaintance always brought darkness to her otherwise untainted life of preteen excitement...and worse of all he reminded her of a life she had forgotten...in those white halls...those sponged walls...with her mother and all those babbling patients.

Her foster father, Antonio, had thrown her a bash, just like she had wanted. . .well, he always did things she wanted. It was part of the reason that she adored him so. And the foster mother had been out of sight for most of the day ...thank god. She always found reason to pick on her, whenever the preteen was around. 'Oh you're not doing that right, chica..' 'Ugh, you're terrible at it...like a complete daft. Here, Let me...' 'Do you know I've been doing/studying/practicing/dancing/ horse riding/writing a play/...gods know how many bloody activities this woman did! And she was supposedly a master in every single last one of them. It was such utter perfection that drove her mad...she wanted it...yet...a scruple of her, perhaps the last shred of her human sanity, had hated it to her very core. Yet she strove towards it...bled, killed for it. The memory of Tracy Berry's _sudden_ and _unfortunate_ beam accident, right before the gymnastics tournament had been etched rather thoroughly in her mind, and even more...the gold that she had then **easily** won in her absence. It was part of the reason why the stepmother had allowed for such expense to be made in activity other than for her own benefit. And although Elva did not particularly like the woman, she was grateful for the birthday bash.

The mansion had been lain out in an array of flowers - of pretty pink roses - powder pink in tint...her foster mother insisted on it, despite her complaints, and all her friends had been invited over. They had been coming in by the droves all decked with delicious presents that she would open soon enough, when another ring had been sung at the doorbell.

She waited for the maid to get it.

...it rang again.

The sound irked her.

...It rang _again..._

"Ugh, stupid maid...can't even answer the doorbell...as if she's soooo busy." She rolled her eyes and got up, deciding to herself to smack the little dunce whenever she had the chance.

Getting to the door, she opened it...to see not one of her other snooty tooty friends, laden with her birthday gifts, but rather the mail man, a batch of fresh mail in his bag.

Elva looked at him shocked for a moment, before recovering...She hadn't expected those letters to come so quickly - she had only made the deal with Murtagh the week before.

"Is this Murtagh Morzanson's residence?" the mailman was fairly polite. Before Elva found answer there was a already a sharp response from behind.

"No, sorry, wrong address..."

"Oh shut up Isabella!" Elva turned to the maid who had suddenly decided to show up minutes late to address the door. She turned back to the mail man who looked a little shaken up from such brazen behaviour from a preteen.

"Yes, this is the residence..." She stretched out her hand to receive the letter, when he suddenly shuffled inside his bag again and procured another envelope, brown in complexion.

"Is this also, the Fantismo residence...I've got a letter for Arita Fantismo.." Her eyes smiled devishly. The letter had been for her foster mother.

"Oh, that's _me_ again...sorry." the mail man nodded politely at her, murmured a salutation and teetered off the large property. Elva tucked the letter inside he bosom intent on reading its contents when Isabella the maid gave her a side glance of remote disapproval. She glared back, her eyes razors.

"If Arita finds out about this...I'll be sure immigration would be interested to know about you're visa that's been expired for what...over six months now?"

The maid retracted almost immediately, a terrified look in her eye. She made the sign of the cross hastily, murmuring a spanish prayer against 'el demonio' as Elva slithered from her presence. The fanatic reaction only broadened that devilish gleam that had settled on the preteens sordid smirk. She soon forgot about the stupid maid however and mind turned back towards the unexpected letter. Sure enough, Arita would miss her mail...but it was Elva's turn to fuck with her after she had done so many irritating things to her for the past week. She decided to complete her devious act in the privacy of her bedroom upstairs.

There was no return address on the envelope. Elva noted that as she slumped unto her bed, creasing the beautiful lacy chiffon of her princess dress. She had slithered up the stairs unnoticed and the door had been locked behind her. She was sure that she would not be disturbed. Using a letter opener, she slit open the throat of the envelope and pried the neatly folded parchment inside. She wondered what it would be...

A secret lover, that Antonio knew nothing about? - Oh she would delight in telling him about that one.

Or maybe she was in some serious debt...would she lose her horses that she chatted on endlessly about...

Or _maybe _she had some incureable disease and these were confirmation test results...her mind went wild with fantasy.

Imagine her shock, when she opened the letter to see the beautiful scrawl of her estranged mother...Mary-Anne.

. . .

Why was her mother writing to her stepmother...? Elva remembered that had been the first question that had barraged through her mind, still dazed by the revelation. But the answer had been given soon enough in the contents of the letter. Apparently this had not been the first letter...her mother had written several...perhaps even hundreds...but Elva had never gotten them. Arita had told her mother that she did not wish to communicate with her, and apparently took pleasure in telling the poor incarcerated soul of how wonderful a daughter Elva was to Antonio and herself, and how she told Arita that she wished she were her real mother instead, and that she hated Mary-Anne.

Sitting on the bench, Elva remembered her anger, her hurt, and rage that had boiled within her. Her mother had been writing to her all this time...and Arita had hidden it...feeding poison to her mother, about how she never loved her anymore...and telling Elva that her mother was flat out, junkie with a man problem...that she abandoned her and she deserved an even bigger sentence than what she got - that she was a true criminal. But her mother had written

"_I know that she may be still angry with me. I am still angry with myself for allowing something that seemed so small to spiral out of control...and to hurt my little cariña as well. I know that her birthday is in a few days, please bake her banana-choco muffins with raspberry icing, those are her absolute favourites. They hold special memories; and please tell them they are from her mother, who still loves and misses her very much. . ."_

She had remembered...her mother had remembered her birthday. She had remembered the muffins...she called her, her '_cariña' - her dear one. _Elva had bribed the family chaffeur the next day and visited the women's prison. She had seen her mother, who had explained to her that she didn't abandon her, that the court had placed her in the Fantismo's care during the duration of the sentence...that she loved her very much...and how life had been horrible in prison because she was without her._ She had then proceeded to ask for a favour._

"Prison's pretty lonely in her baby, people hit on you, if you've got nothing to show...to give, to sell - you'll die." Elva's eyes were wide, she had been fresh to such experience, despite her mother's frequent trips there.

"I need you to do me a favour...Do you remember Dr. - "

. . .

"Andrews...Dr. Andrews..." she had hissed at him in a hurried tone. Murtagh seemed dazed however...He had feigned it off as the terrible flu that had been passing around, but Elva had known better, she still remembered growing up to that look that had stilled her mother's toppling figure for several years before she was arrested...and even after she had come out of prison the first time. Murtagh was high...dosed up on some medication probably forced down his throat by another doctor his stepfather had taken him to...Strangely though, he seemed finally peaceful in the light stupor. - A thing she had never seen in her years of knowing him. He looked at her, blankly for a bit...and Elva knew he wasn't really looking at her, he was looking through her.

She smacked him, brutally on the cheek. The pain seemed to sober him up a bit...she wasn't there to joke around. This was serious...her mother needed it.

"Do you remember Dr. Andrews...?" she asked again. Murtagh seemed to mill around in his mind, shoving his boot into the wet grass. The habit annoyed a little. It was obvious his frizzed out brain couldn't recall the psychiatrist who had treated him some years ago...It where they had first met when her mother had been employed as an orderly there and she had tagged along after school that day, much to the displeasure of her boss.

"Uh...Yea...yea...the blond guy with the weird nose and the funny, melon face." Murtagh seemed oddly comically blunt when under. Elva couldn't help but laugh...the doctor _did _have a melon shaped head.

"I'm calling in my favour...I need you to get something from his office..."

"I don't go to him any-" He saw the look in her eyes...it said everything. "_You want me to steal...?_" There was a bitter comprehension that had stilled mind, even in unusual state.

"Just a few things from the supply cabinet...they won't even be missed..."

"What ...are they?" Murtagh had gotten obviously uncomfortable. He looked oddly sober as they talked secretly in the kid's park near the Surdan Juniour High school where they attended, a mile away from the private, Varden High.

"Just a few pills...I'll text you the names when you're there...tonight."

"Tonight!" Murtagh looked like eyes were about to pop out of his head in fright. He looked like a deer about to run off for fear of the crackle of a bush, the click of a rifle.

Elva's eyes were stone. Her mother loved her...she had told her, that day in the prison, that "Blood is thicker than water"...and she was right. Elva had to do this for her. Her eyes singed cold.

"I don't expect you to back out of this Morzanson...We have a deal, and you said...I could call in anything as repayment. Well..." she paused, taking in the look of powerlessness on the boy's face.

". . .This is it."

. . .

_Blood is thicker than water..._

The words resonated with her. She had lived by them from that day...when she knew that it was only her mother that had truly cared for her. She remembered the look of utter elation when she had brought the package to her, full of Murtagh's unwilling handy work. She had done well...And had smiled up at her mother's approval. But then...Mary-Anne had asked for more.

'I need to live honey...' she had whispered. 'The girls around her, are really into this stuff, they want more...' and then she looked her with those deer eyes. '_Can you get your mom, more?' _And soon enough, what had turned into a one time favour had become a regular scheme. There were more letters luckily, and Elva had found a way to milk the opportunity of Murtagh's help, by writing back to that wicked father of his, so that more letters would come, and then more favours would be owed. And soon enough the plain novelty, the guilt of such behaviour had worn off the face of the youth, she had realized and so had it with her. This was just their way of helping each other...well...until Dr. Andrew noticed the thefts and installed a new security system.

Murtagh's source..._Elva's_ source... had run dry, and her mother squeeled as a result. Soon enough, Murtagh had to be dipping into his own medication...giving Elva his pills which she would give to her mother to snipen off for cigarettes, for food, for favours in Jail. But the doctors had noticed...his pills were finishing too fast...his prescriptions filled too often...and they had cut him off suddenly, warning his stepfather about their suspicions. And soon enough, Murtagh had to turn elsewhere...because the letters kept coming, and coming...and _coming. . .and his back kept hurting...and hurting..._

The memory was fresh in reflection as Elva sat quietly in the morning air. The sun had become hotter, and the cold air warmed a bit..yet still she clutched to the jacket. Hands were tucked inside its pockets where she could feel the soft plastic of the packet inside and she remembered the instructions of the strange shadow that had suddenly and unexpectedly taken hold of her life...threatening her with the safety of her mother who was still incarcerated. She knew that this was wrong...but Murtagh, no matter how long she had known him for, was not family. He would never be, and that resolve is what had held her set in mind...allowing her to even attempt such betrayal.

It seemed that her thought of him had conjured him up. She glanced over to the rear of the school where the large gym led out to the football field. She stared at his figure, walking towards her and her blood warmed a bit as she saw the duffle bag in his grasp. _He had gotten it..._Just as she suspected he would've. Murtagh was never one to disappoint. . .well except when he had mentioned quitting when that new girl had suddenly waltzed into his life. She frowned a bit remembering Nasuada, and how she almost ruined what they had going. In truth, Elva did learn...grow to like Murtagh, a lot, and even with their ploy of 'dating' each other as cover for their secret meetings, and unscrupulous behaviour, she had begun to develop feelings for the bastard...bumping their fake relationship to another level by embracing him...and even kissing him in public. She liked him... It was a thing that ticked her off, yet warmed her...and she knew that, that was part of the reason that there was a remote hesitance to what she was about to do to him.

She thought of her mother...after the shadow had made its threats, somehow finding her online among the maze of other Elva's out there in the world to plague her; and she thought of how she had found her in her last visit, her eye black and blue, and fresh bruises on her jaw. It had been result of the shadow's threats after it had warned her, that if she did not comply her mother would be hurt. And indeed, her mother had been. Elva had listened then, to the horrific detail of what the anonymous tormentor had wanted from her, and against will she had complied.

She stood now, as his figure neared hers. It was a few moments before Murtagh reached up the bleachers where she had been stationed. His face was stone and every emotion of utter hatred was etched into his chiseled features. Elva remained impassive, motioning for him to hand her the bag. Plopping it heavily unto the bench she zipped it open loudly and rummaged around inside. The bag was full.

"That enough for you to leave me alone forever...?" he hissed, his tone drenched in bitter hate.

". . ." Elva was silent. Hands procured one of the many small orange bottles that held dozens of round white pills. She looked at the label...

"...Zar'roc? Who the hell is that?"

"Does it matter..." he growled. He saw the look on her face, and eventually obliged. "My dog..."

Elva burst out laughing. "You're dog? You've gotten prescriptions written for your dog! Ha! Just add fraud to the long list of crimes you've committed..."

Murtagh was not amused. "The pills are in fact for the dog. I told my...vet that his knee injury's acting up again, and to order the medication in bulk, so I wouldn't have to fill so many prescriptions."

Elva looked impressed and she observed Murtagh keenly. A devious smile then slithered across her face as she noted his blank expression. "There's more to it...there's something you're not telling me. You're in deep with this vet too aren't you..."

Murtagh did not reply, he merely stared at her as if she mere vomit, or dead vermin left to fester on the floor.

"Is that it...?" he growled lowly, turning to leave.

"Wait..." her tone had gotten oddly guilty. She rested a hand on his arm and although he didn't pull away, Murtagh looked at it as if it would burn him. She paused as if in contemplation, her hands tucked inside her jacket pocket. And then she suddenly embraced him tightly. Murtagh stiffened in immediate response to the foreign gesture.

After a while, Elva eventually pulled away and she stood sobered before him, a strange dampened look on her face.

"Thank you..." she murmured. "...for everything. And..." she paused, mustering up the words as her hand clasped around the duffle bag. " I'm sorry."

Murtagh stood shocked by her words...which actually sounded genuine. She lumbered past him, the pharmaceuticals in hand, and began descending the bleacher's stairs.

"I'm afraid this is our last deal Murtagh..." the words were almost murmured but he had heard them.

The words rung deep in the youth...and he felt a weight suddenly lift from his being. Murtagh stood upon the bleachers, the sun's comforting warmth smothering him, his heart lightened, his mind blown. He had sold his soul, only to actually have it returned. A smile stilled his face, and he thought of the terrible apprehension that had singed through him in the morning in the shower, and his contemplation over whether his gut instinct had gone awry. It evidently had. Things had turned out quite opposite to the dread that he had imagined...

He thought of Nasuada and his heart was lightened by the thought of him being wrong. Perhaps things were in fact OK with her...perhaps they would be OK with everyone now...

. . .

He was wrong in both regard as he would soon learn later that day, in the back of that god awful police car...his mind sizzling with obscenities and that same disbelief that had enraptured him earlier that morning. And Murtagh realized as he drove away, Eragon running, screaming after the blaring police car, that his gut had been right...and everything was pretty much _fucked_ for all of 'em.

* * *

I do hear on apologize for what I thought may have been a lot of swears...I'm not sure. I personally curse like a sailor so it may have been my own slight in not having an intrinsic profanity filter in my mind. Also, I haven't read the earlier chapters in a while, so I'm not sure if this is more than usual.

Well, voilà! That's it my dearies. I wrote the first part in pieces, a little each day...on breaks and so on. And then the last part came in a flurry of inspiration. I really hope you enjoyed reading it. I sure loved writing it.

I delayed posting it, as I did promise the three first reviewers that I would send it to them first.

Wasn't as action packed as I had first planned it, but as it progressed I realized this great opportunity to get things clarified instead of leaving them up in the air like that - with Elva and Murtagh's past and the deal and so on. So, future chapters can be spent on building up the drama and all that shazam with the return of Brom and Nasuada and this current dilemma with Murtagh.

I'm sure some of you will have mixed feelings about what has happened...and what is happening with the characters. Seems Murtagh's in a shitload of trouble as is soon to be explored in the coming chapter...

I'll be likely to explain the details leading up to Murtagh's arrest in the following chapter(s) and the result.

Would love to put it out there that I do appreciate all the love and support readers have given for this story. It motivates me to do my utter most best when writing! Thanks for all the reviews and reads!

- S.B.


	15. Chapter 15: Waking

I know, I've been a way in what seems like forever..it probably _is _forever o-o.

I do apologize but even though I have officially left high school, I was in the middle of daily rehearsals for an upcoming musical production with the Jamaica Youth Chorale. The production went successfully and we're on break now, which is awesome. I'm so sorry I couldn't write during the season, but I'm trying to make up for that now.

I want to thank everyone who has been reading this story and reviewing. Thank you so much! Every read and review counts, and I just want to thank you for all your support through the ups and downs of this story.

Thanks to the people who reviewed Chapter Fourteen! Up to 121 reviews now! HOLY SMOKES! Never thought it was possible! No seriously though, **_you guys are awesome!_**

I must say, that I do absolutely love writing this story, and am enthralled at the amount of support that it has gotten. Know that although I may be gone for long periods of time (all outside of my control) I will always come back.

My aim for this story...is to simply tell an emotional journey of sorts, where you may not like characters, or their actions, but you can feel for them, understand them...both hate and love them. I think the best writers are able to do this (just look at Stephen S D Knight with the Spartacus Series), and ultimately this is what I'm striving towards.

**NOTE** - **I have decided to go along with the sequel I was planning.** And I already have several potential scenes written down with dialogue I want to explore (:D). I do wish to warn anyone however that the sequel will be darker than 'HighSchool And Its Problems"..and will perhaps get even _darker_ as it progresses. The story will get more mature as our Characters are more mature ie older. They will go through things that you may or may not like, and the dynamics of their relationships with one another will change, strain and intensify in some aspects. Just thought I should warn you. And I think I've decided on the time jump for the sequel, to about five years after this story. Also note while I'm fleshing out a climax and ending to High School, it may be a few chapters well before its end, so please don't expect the sequel any time soon.

So keep tuned, and fill me in on any ideas that you may have...for this story or the upcoming sequel - or anything that you may want to see. I really love input.

Still need a name for the teacher Brom was dating...haven't had any suggestions yet.

IN This rather long Chapter we get the POV's of Thorn, Saphira, Murtagh and Nasuada.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

Waking

The world was a blur...a massive, beautiful blur of colours and shapes and the smells of a town she apprehensively called home blended together, melted in a mess of incoherence. Nasuada found herself drenched in the loud silence. The world outside rippled before her against the tinted window, as the deep stained yellow of the taxi sped across the familiar highway. The man seated beside her lay entranced by the scene as well. And although well known to one another, they sat on opposite sides of the car, separated...tethered. Nasuada's eyes were glazed lifeless as the _'Welcome to Varden'_ sign fluttered up then whistled swiftly passed view – another whiz in the never ending blur.

They had returned to the Varden with minds already drenched in silent calamity...to sudden news.

-X-

It had been late afternoon, and Thorn was just about covered in grease and engine oil when Murtagh's brother had called, utterly frantic over the phone. Thorn remembered having to literally shout at him, to calm down, before the boy stopped hyperventilating and finally spit out what had happened. He had been anticipating something _-bad-_ as it was a rarity in itself that Eragon ever called him. . .but nothing on God's green Earth could have prepared him for what Eragon had said next.

. . .

_"M-Murtagh..." he murmured through punctuated breaths over the phone. Eragon struggled to control himself, Thorn could hear it plainly in his voice. The way he gasped for breath every few seconds was hint enough. He sounded winded as if he had been running and the frequent, emotional cracks in his tone radiated thorough panic._

_"Calm down, Eragon." Thorn's voice was tired as he wiped the grease from his hands in a soiled cloth that he had thrown half idly on the seat of his bike. It lay limp next to a sweaty old t-shirt he had been wearing before the afternoon heat had become too unbearable for modesty. The evening light fluttered haphazardly across up the driveway and into the shady garage where he was presently bent over the engine of his bike. Engine grease blackened his fingers, arms...bare chest whenever something sprayed unexpectedly from the valves._

_Thorn was exhausted. His fingers were numb from holding the wrench for so long, taking bolts apart...screwing them back together. He had been working on it the whole afternoon, yet there was a hell lot more work that he had to do on it. He had taken in all a part, cleaned it, and was presently putting it back together. It was a tedious task, stressful, monotonous, yet somehow despite all of that, the grease monkey in him found it oddly relaxing._

_A soft cool autumn breeze washed over the cluttered space, fluttering deep red hair across his sweat slicked, oil streaked face, his bare back and chest. Tired and hot, he was grateful for the small comfort; yet the breeze caused a chill in him, one that reverberated with Eragon's frantic voice over the phone presently pressed to his ear. He paused for a moment in cloaked dread, hearing Eragon's muffled tone babbling incoherently across the line._

_"OK.." he murmured collectively, gathering his thoughts. "...what's happened?" his tone was quiet, yet demanding. There was a hidden panic that swelled in his stomach at the mention of Murtagh's name. He feared what Eragon would say next._

_"He's...Murtagh's..." the teenager's voice was whimpered._

_"What...**What** is it?" Thorn's voice grew tense over the line._

_"He's been. . . _arrested_."_

. . .

No matter how simply those three words had been said, Thorn's mind even now, was unable to grasp the concept. Beside him, Eragon looked haunted. His eyes were gaping and hollow as he stared through the window as if he had watched a massacre instead of a simple arrest. The late afternoon breeze that blew in through the window of the old truck was almost icy, chased with the drowsy scent that was the approach of winter. Autumn lingered about them, evident in the burnt orange, and yellow leaves that lay in thick carpets among the deciduous tress that lined the roads. They danced erratically, raised from their grassy beds as the truck sped past them, leaving them to flutter haphazardly in the faux wind before settling on the temperate asphalt of the dampened road.

As Thorn shot through the freeway he noted absently that to the left of the speeding truck, the borders of Northern Carvahall could be seen in the wispy distance. The notion reminded him of Saphira for a second as he remembered that was where she lived, before thought was swallowed up in more disturbing and distressing reality. Although at this point he was way passed the speed limit, and he was_ flooring_ the gas pedal, he felt as if he weren't driving fast enough. And even though he murmured it constantly to himself, Thorn just could not grasp it...

"...Murtagh...arrested?"

He shook his head as the wind, pommeling through the half wound window, took the whispered words from his lips in a blast of autumn chill. His hair whipped rabidly in its assault, beating against him, beating the reality further and _further_ into his fizzled brain.

_Murtagh...arrested..._

He glanced at the younger brother of his friend in his peripheral view as he took the freeway that lead into the main town. Eragon sat, still as ever in the front seat beside him, a frozen figure, mouth slightly parted.. in shock, Thorn could only assume... It was the very same shock that had his mind presently sizzling with disbelief.

Sea green eyes turned from the silent sibling of his friend to glance back at the road again. Familiar dread encroached him as he remembered the demand he had growled at Eragon when he had picked him up from the parking lot of the grocery about an hour after the call.

"What was he arrested for, Eragon...?" a dreadful pause. "Do you _know** what**_ Murtagh arrested for?" Thorn remembered the stupefied expression the youth had given him, and the action only made him feel worse. There was a repressed thought...a suspicion that clawed its way into his gut. He had a feeling...a terrible feeling.

. . .

_"Thorn...what is this?"_

_A younger Murtagh glanced up at him, fear plainly written in his sharp blue eyes. Thorn felt his gut clench at his expression. Feeling almost all resolve break in that moment, he knew that if the looming figure was not behind him, he would have forgotten this confrontation altogether._

_"M-murtagh..." he began, feeling a set of hazel eyes boring into the back of his head. Behind him, Brom's face was stone. Murtagh, seated on the edge of his bed looked like a deer caught in the head lights, and glanced in frightened suspicion from his best friend, to his step father. They had him cornered altogether... he couldn't escape. He saw that Murtagh realized that as well._

_"Thorn?" he felt his gut clench as he saw the look on Murtagh's face...horror, and knowing dread. And Thorn knew then that his friend knew just **what** this was... that Murtagh knew that..._Brom_ had found out..._

_But this was for his own good -_

_Thorn replayed the mantra to himself as he felt regret washing him over like a tidal wave, seeing Murtagh's expression slumped into one of almost despair._

_"Murtagh..." it wasn't he who spoke this time. Thorn tensed as Brom stepped forward from the doorway of Murtagh's bedroom, closing the door behind him. Murtagh's eyes locked at the action, and Thorn saw him tense upon the edge of his bed._

_"Yes...?" The youth's face was drained...He was ghostly white, his eyes were misted in dark anticipation._

_"..." There was a pause, a long everlasting pause, as Brom stood lengthily from the figure of his step son, a taut expression on his face. He folded his arms. "...I know.." he paused, checking the solid exasperation and disappointment that had slipped into his voice for a moment. He continued tentatively. "..._I know_...and _you_ know what comes after this."_

_Thorn felt himself jerk, as he saw the trembling figure of Murtagh, who looked like he had just been sentenced to death. Tears spilled __onto__ his paled cheeks as he nodded his head, his shaggy black hair shaking as he did so. Thorn felt his heart seize up as if he'd been stabbed in the chest._

_"I'm sorry...I'm sorry...Please..._please..._" Murtagh's voice was cracked, hushed as he pleaded with his stepfather...with Thorn. "...don't send me away...I promise I wont-"_

_"..." Thorn opened his mouth, but found no reply._

_'This is for his own good...' the thought was bitter in his mind._

_"I'm sorry Murtagh." he heard Brom say, interrupting his friend. "But..this is it. I told you this was strike three." Brom shook his head, motioning for Thorn to open the door. Reluctantly, Thorn complied. The door swung open with a horrid creak._

_Thorn saw, Murtagh's eyes fall as he noted the two figures at the doorway, standing horribly erect. Their badges were a dull bronze, the blue from their uniforms was mocking...their eyes unsympathetic._

_Brom turned to the police officers, and nodded a bit in resignation at them. The men stepped into the room, with silent shuffles. A solid grey handcuff swung from one of their grasps._

_Murtagh looked at them like one would Death, and then turned to Thorn, a dazed betrayal etched in his eyes._

"How could you do this to me Thorn?"

_Murtagh knew...he knew that it was _he_ who had told Brom._

_There was a horrible rotten feeling that clenched his gut as those solid blue eyes bore into him._

_He remembered not answering him then...but the thought had rung clear in his mind, clenching him in present reality._

_"_No Murtagh...how could you do this to yourself..._"_

_. . ._

The thought stabbed into his mind again, as he withdrew from the memory in horrid guilt. He could taste the rottenness rising in his gut, remembering the bruises on Murtagh when they had visited him a few weeks after - that horrible resignation etched into his catatonic stare. He had been a ghost then, and for a moment Thorn had wondered to himself if they had only made matters worse.

. . .

_"How, long has he been like this..?" It was Thorn who spoke, his voice tripping in a panic. Hands were firmly stuffed in pockets as sea green eyes were trained on his seated friend._

_Murtagh sat before them on the white chair, dressed in an awful orange jumpsuit with hands resting on the table before him. His face had been bruised, scratched. He looked like he had not slept in days..._

_The attendant, who had walked in a few moments ago, proceeded to stutter on a bit before taking in the angry glare of his stepfather who had also come along for the visit._

_" About five days..." His voice trailed off into a murmur._

_Brom was livid. "And why was I not informed! And why does he look like this?! I was promised that he would be kept separated from the others"_

_The doctor shrank before him, quickly tottering to the opposite side of Murtagh where Thorn had been standing, leaning over his friend in unmatched concern._

_"He _was_...separate. Sir, your stepson did this to _himself_..."_

_It was shock that silenced Brom then and for a moment Thorn thought he saw a look of utter hopelessness cross the man's face - a mist of tears glazing his eyes._

_"This seeming catatonia..." the attendant continued, snagging the clipboard which had been on the table._

_"Seeming?" Brom's stone was ice. The younger man smiled at him nervously then glanced back to an unresponsive Murtagh. Thorn waved a hand in front of him, but Murtagh's stare was unwavering...unresponsive. He stared through them as if they were invisible._

_"How do you explain that then...?" Thorn looked up in a mirrored anger to Brom's. The attendant ignored him._

_"I understand that your stepson experienced a trauma when he was younger. . ."the shaggy haired man spouted, reading the file from a clipboard._

_Brom suddenly stiffened, his eyes tensed. His voice was low...cautious. "Yes...but that was several years ago.."_

_"How was he treated...? Psychologically I mean..." The attendant sat on the table facing Murtagh with a clipboard in hand and glanced up at Brom over his thick framed glasses._

_Thorn looked up at Brom, noting the glazed look that had clouded his eyes. His journey with Murtagh had been a troubling one...He did not like to revisit the dark past they shared._

_"We saw psychiatrists..." Brom said vaguely. _

_"They prescribed medication...he got counseling ...he was fine." There were pauses between each abrupt phrase as Brom seemingly replayed the details in his mind. There was always something wrong with Murtagh as far as he could remember...and there would always be _something_. One did not simply get over your father stabbing your back open, murdering your mother._

_The doctor looked uneasy for a moment. His large brown eyebrows were furrowed. "What do you mean by_ fine_...?"_

_"_Fine_...!" Brom said more sternly. Thorn nodded agreeing with him. Until recently, Murtagh was like any other boy his age. Well, save the fact that he had been having more frequent checkups with his psychologist._

_And then there had been that mysterious pain he had had... Thorn felt an uneasiness pass through him as the sequence of the events replayed in his mind._

_He remembered Murtagh doubled over in agony in the middle of a fencing class, leaning on his foil for support - right before that stupid Birthday Bash at Elva's- if he recalled correctly. They had rushed him to the ER then - thinking that his spleen had ruptured or something..._

_The doctors found nothing._

_They did X-Rays, MRI's, Cat Scans, every test they could think of..._

_Still...nothing._

_And then the trips to the ER grew frequent - the pain worse – _

_-the skepticism grew even more so – _

_. . It was nerve damage_

_. . . .It was a blood clot_

_. . . . . .It was damage from the scar tissue. _

_The babbling of doctors' conjectures left them mentally drained, and even more drained of cash. Save for Morzan's funds, they would have been bankrupt. Soon enough there had been no more tests to do…just more pills to take, new pills. And then when nothing else worked - pain pills._

_And he popped them anywhere...everywhere, in the hall, in the locker room...before class. Thorn recalled Murtagh with that orange pill bottle in his hand, gulping the white pills down without any water, and that dazed stupor of content shadowing his face; He looked _pain free_, in all regards. Thorn had shown concern then, but Murtagh had shrugged it off...and for a moment he allowed himself to believe that perhaps things were O.K. It was the sleeping that convinced him otherwise._

_From as long as they had known one another, Murtagh had never slept in class. It was just something that he did not do._

_But soon enough, he was sleeping through whole sessions and then there had been that one incident that had caused him to voice his concerns to Brom._

_. . ._

Thorn's eyes grew glassy as the car sped into oblivion. The memory was too much for him. It ripped him into that feeling of helplessness and loss that had smothered him those few years ago - when Murtagh had fallen asleep during swim class and fell into the pool nearly drowning; when he had gone to Brom then, on the verge of panicked tears...When Brom had called in a favour with a friend of his and had gotten Murtagh on the court ordered program..."to get him some real help,_ hopefully_".

_Hopefully - _even now the word sounded foolish...a fool's dream. There had been no hope then, only panic, helplessness...and guilt.

_It was for his own good -_

Even now, years later, the guilt ate at him. . .soothed only in moments when he saw Murtagh happy after that unspoken ordeal. After that summer when he was out, Murtagh never spoke of his experience. It was as if that part of his life had never happened. And Thorn bleakly realized that it had been _after_ the juvenile detention that Murtagh seemingly had began to forget things about his younger years. Trivial things…_important _things…yet Thorn reminded himself that Murtagh had always **_wanted_ **to forget – and he seemed the happier for it. Things had settled down for once in what seemed like forever. There were no more nightmares that left his friend sleep deprived for days; no hallucinations that he had to help hide from Brom, dragging Murtagh to an empty bathroom in the middle of an episode so no one else would see him; no more trips to the ER; no more pain. For the first time things were normal – and Murtagh seemed a normal teen.

And suddenly, things had changed.

It was happening all over again.

Murtagh was seeing things, hearing things…he had been _arrested. _It was like if that whole dreadful summer had begun to replay all over again…

Thorn cringed as the icy wind bit into him, and he remembered what he had said to his friend those few days ago right before the storm. . .

.

_"I don't want to go back there, Thorn." He slumped against the lockers in his seated position. His friend slunk unto the floor of the hallway next to him._

_"I won't let them take you back…Your never going back to that –__place__- again " he soothed. . ._

_._

Thorn sighed, his eyes furrowing, embodying the worry that had burrowed its way into every crevice of his body. At the rate that things were going, he didn't know if he could keep that promise…

As the sharp whistle of the icy wind ripped through the half open windows of the speeding car, Thorn was acutely aware of the ragged silence that had swallowed both he and the still figure beside him. The silence from Eragon was painful...but perhaps helpful as it left Thorn to his own thoughts. Yet they were thoughts that only seemed to get darker and more dreadful as the minutes stretched on. In the far distance he could see the edges of the Main Town in view. The sky was a sad blue, darkening as the low hung sun hurried its way across the horizon. Evening was waning...night would soon fall.

He thought of Murtagh...cooped up in the _dark..._caged in a tiny cell, afraid...some police officer shouting at him or something. His gut twisted at the notion. He remembered Murtagh seeing Morzan those few days ago in the hall, and he thought of him panicking and losing it again...in front of **_everyone_**. Sea green eyes widened then looked at the speedometer...

'_9__0 mph..'_

He slammed his foot on the gas pedal.

-X-

Saphira couldn't help but mutter to herself in annoyance as his deep baritone drawled on and on about his disapproval of her recent grade on her Biology report. Apart of her even regretted telling him about her recent shortfalls in the subject. And even more so, she regretted her teacher Mrs. Timothy somehow attaining her father's cell number. The woman, who she suspected had summoned witchcraft to get her father's digits (as not even the school records had them), had apparently called her father in the middle of his working day to express her 'concerns' about Saphira's participation and performance in her class. Saphira knew better than that. That woman, despised her…and especially despised her coloured hair, painted nails, and the tiny piercings at the very top of her ear. She despised her forwardness, the witty remarks she had in class, the fact that Saphira questioned her theories with research that she had read on her own.

Saphira pursed her lips in silence, forced into listening to another one of her dad's pointless lectures, and rolled her eyes at him whenever he happened to look away – which was…well most of the conversation, given that he was driving. It was typical of him - He never listened to her side. She never got in a word. It was pointless trying to explain to him, that the teacher hadn't even read her paper. She had just taken a glance at it…accused her of cheating, and then scrawled a huge zero across the paper, and given her that distasteful smile that seemed to crawl up her mouth rather than emote genuine feeling.

"Cheating!" Beside her, he was blazing in disappointment more than anything. Saphira drowned him out with the whirring sound of the blaring siren inside the police car they were driving in - pointless- because they were driving home. (She knew he did it because it was a ritual...something that he had always done when she was a kid - pretending to chase a criminal when they were headed home - when she used to play cops with him...that was too long ago).

She stared out the window, at the shifting green and darkening grays of the landscape as the last of sunlight slipped across it, calling in the dusk. The air was ice as it hit her face. Coupled with the loud siren, it drowned out the cracked, half shouting of her father beside her.

Winter was coming.

That was evident enough. It hung heavily in the air, in the stripping leaves of the trees that lay scattered about the roads in deep brown honey and amber sheets. Saphira always loved winter, the snow…the holidays, huddling by the fireplace with her dad. There was always a heavy nostalgia there, one that was anticipated every year. She loved when the wind turned icy and beat on her reminding her it was only a few months away. Saphira stuck her head further out the window taking in the bland scent. She closed her eyes taking in a deep draught, before slowly opening them again, just to see the last lingering rays of sunlight quenched in the horizon.

Her eyes caught sight of a thicket of trees in the far distance, mere wisps in vision. The sight pried a memory loose, and the memory, a smile. Her eyes shone a bit for a moment as she recalled the red haired soul who had saved her those few days ago in the storm…who had taken her in.

She remembered his eyes, that childish grin of his, the hands that had covered her in a blanket when she had fallen asleep in the middle of the living room floor, listening to his stories of his younger years. Thorn was a pleasant memory amid the mundane and tediousness that shadowed her life. Trapped within her father's worry, his misunderstanding, his refusal to listen…the days without seeing him at home – because of work he said (and deep down, though Saphira hated to admit that she knew he wasn't lying…she preferred to believe he was simply abandoning her). And then there was school..which had seemingly become another dampened hell it itself; where she was either alone or being targeted by the devilish Mrs. Timothy.

The sigh was inward, shooting from her soul in slow ragged gasps.

It was moments like these that she missed her mother, and her pleasant babble. She missed her carefree spirit and flighty laughter that always somehow made her forget all the trouble that had seeped into her life. Saphira sighed into the wind, wishing to be with her now, missing her warm laugh and infectious happiness.

But of course – she wasn't allowed to talk about her. Not at home with her dad, not ever…not even when Saphira flew down every summer to California to visit her. In winter her mother did not exist. There was only her father and herself.

She existed only in Summer…only when Saphira was on a beach somewhere, sipping lemonade on the front porch of her mother's beach house with some new muscled beauty lingering about the yard – her new beau – barely years older than Saphira herself.

No Saphira's mother was a dream, only to be lived in summer vacation, when her father unwillingly let her go to visit her.

Perhaps that was why she favoured Thorn so…not tolerated his childish enthusiasm, but _treasured_ it. Perhaps that's why she was so comfortable around him that night. He had that unquenchable light in his eyes like her mother did: that warm glow that seemed to evade the dampening figure of her father…and even her for the most part.

The smile on her face remained, lingering in the memory of him driving her to the Main Town the day after when the storm had passed. Strangely enough, the power lines had remained up in the Main Town (by some miracle) and she finally got the chance to phone her father. And even luckier…or perhaps _unlucky_ in retrospect…her father had been on duty when the storm had arrived. Thorn had dropped her, rather graciously a block from the Police Station where he had been cooped up. She remembered his concern knitted into that tanned skin or his, the freckles of his face looked deeper in the gray morning light.

.

_"I can drop you at the police station if you want…" Thorn turned to her, as the engine of the bike petered out to a solid hum. The sky was a dark gray even though it was somewhere around noon. Saphira grabbing her now dry belongings, shook her head at him. The streets were soppy, the drains clogged and water strummed in gushing beats around them, speeding down the main road and through the winding alleyways. The wind was limp leaving the air oddly still. _

_"No, its alright. I think it's better if I walked it." She nodded at him, and the expression on Thorn's face deepened. She thanked Thorn, grabbing him into a hug, which he surprisingly reciprocated and then quickly teetered off down the block, not turning to see the concern still in his face. Saphira knew better than to agree to let Thorn take her._

_._

Saphira knew her father. She knew that it was best that Thorn not meet him either. He was a sharp one…apt to blaming people who were in fact only trying to help her. She was sure he would find some obscene thing to blame Thorn for given her absence during the whole storm despite the fact that _he_ had been the one to save her…to take her in.

The wind beat against her face, invigorating her with its icy chill. Vaguely she could recognize that her father's voice had died in the background. He had a settled himself to silence, evidently satisfied with his own lecture or just tired of shouting at her. Saphira's eyes furrowed as she turned her face from the window. There was something in the wind, not so comforting...It made the coming winter seem oddly frigid, isolating. Drenched in the warmth of memory, she felt suddenly _cold_, as if something ominous lingered in the night air, wakened by the memory of Thorn. She wound up the window, her eyebrows furrowing as thoughts flashed back to his mentions of that dark haired friend of his, who she still did not fancy. The feeling deepened in her chest.

.

_"I know, that he may seem like an ass, but..." he paused momentarily. "He's been through a lot, and unlike what it may seem, he does have everyone's interest at heart."_

_Saphira looked skeptical, yet kept her mouth shut. Thorn glanced at Saphira for a moment._

_"Even Nasuada..." he murmured._

_._

Saphira remembered Thorn's words to her that night, huddled by the warmth of his fire place while the storm ravaged loudly outside. The thought was bitter in her stomach as her mind flashed to Murtagh and Nasuada…There was a strange caution that stabbed through her veins whenever she thought of them now. And even more strangely there was a feeling of what she recognized as relief that seeped into her, remembering the rest of the conversation.

She remembered all too well the guilty 'yes' Thorn had spouted when she had asked him if Murtagh was going to hurt Nasuada. And she remembered all too well then, the hurt and pity that had borrowed into her chest then at his answer. But now…in retrospect, she realized that perhaps this**_ was_** for the best after all. To feel for Murtagh was to take on the whole world, she now imagined, realizing days later that even light emitting Thorn and his optimism could not escape that dark seriousness that shadowed his whole aura whenever he discussed Murtagh. There was pain there, in this friendship of theirs. Saphira saw it…all too well.

It was a long, bloody, numbing pain – a bond that sealed them both in an inseparable friendship. Nasuada, she knew, despite all the intense bravado she displayed for the most part, was a fragile girl…already battered by loss. The pain of early rejection, she deemed would be far less than the one that shaded Thorn's eyes, whenever the childish façade of his slipped. What he shared was a deep and wounding pain with Murtagh…one that she knew would break her friend, if she faced it.

The thought of Nasuada lingered heavy with her, and Saphira wondered if she had gotten over that dreadful flu as yet, as Eragon had told her of the bug she caught. It must have been pretty bad because Nasuada had missed school. Saphira propped her head against the window in thought, reflecting on how bland the days had gotten with her friends absence. She felt sorry for the girl, huddled up in bed, stuffy, feverish, forced to watch horrible old dvds – if the Bromson Manor had such things - and then there was the horrific piles of homework that she would have to catch up on... and that new science project that Mr–

There was an ear ripping screech.

Saphira was jerked out of thought.

_Literally_ jerked.

Her body slammed forward abruptly as the car came to a sudden, screeching break. And instead of conjured images of Nasuada curled sickly in bed, what rammed itself into her mind was pure fear, surprise. It left her tongue leaden for a solid moment. Her neck whipped back in a millisecond, her head belatedly catching up with her. She felt herself crash against something hard, plastic. Hot white pain tore through as she gaped deliriously about her, paralyzed... She did not understand the blaring lights, the sizzling fumes and whizzing sounds of metal gargling against metal, the acrid smell of exhaust ripping into her nostrils – the pain that wrenched itself violently through her body.

There was metal…

Metal in her mouth…

Shaking fingers slowly found themselves to her face in agonizing seconds that seemed to draw on into forever. Every move sent a jolt of electric pain up her arm, her neck. Her vision was a blur, but Saphira saw red smear her finger tips as they brushed the top of her lip. It was blood.

Blood seeped from her nose into her mouth.

. . .Her nose…it was broken.

She lolled to the side of her seat, hung limply from the seat belt that had kept her from flying through the windshield. The air bag had kept her head from smashing against the dashboard; her head lay limply against it favouring the pose of a babe upon its mother's breast. Agony ripped through her body in sharp stabbing spasms. A liquid terror seeped into her slowly as belatedly her mind began to absorb what had just happened.

They had crashed.

There was a groan, sharp and low. It split amid the low tainted sound of the dying siren that petered out groggily in warped intonations. Saphira's eyes widened as she heard it, and mind could only form one word, one thought…

'D-a-d. . .'

Panic ripped through her as she turned to her father, yet all she could see were lights, colours blurred, smelted together. She strained against the jolting pain that stabbed through her eyes as they tried to focus through the blur. Saphira blinked, and the action was heavy, yet the pain was dulling her, forcing her to fall asleep. She fought it, grabbing unto reality…

She had to stay awake.

'S-t-a-y...a-w-a-k-e…' the thoughts were slow, forced among the incoherent babble that encapsulated her mind. And finally..she did see her dad.

He was fuzzy in view…yet still she could see that he was a bloody sight, splayed raggedly against the steering wheel. His air bag…it hadn't deployed. Blood covered his face, his head, his eyes looked frozen, staring emptily at hers. The groan split through again…and horrified Saphira realized that it did not come from her father. His lips never moved…his eyes never blinked…

_Was he even breathing…?_

The exhaust sizzled in a high pitched squeal as the car lights flashed heavily making the smoke an impenetrable fog of blurring blue flashes. The siren was a blasting whir of senseless off key sounds. Her head lolled against the air bag, blond hair splaying madly about her. Her mind raced in incoherent panic, her nose was bleeding profusely, settling a dull permanent pain in her forehead. Saphira blinked as her vision swam again, and the fog swallowed her in a blur of colours, slowly darkening. She was vaguely aware of the groan getting…louder…or maybe that was the siren dying to quiet bleating...

There was the soft screech outside..

...of a panicked voice.

And then, darkness.

'

-X-

Nobody would tell him anything. No one...not one person in that hell hole of a police station offered any sort of sympathy or decency of any sort. Murtagh found himself slammed up with tight cuffs on his wrists, in some tiny, dingy half lit room like a common criminal. The space was dark, barely lit by a flickering old light bulb overhead that blinked so sporadically it looked as if it were having epileptic seizures. Things were bad...he knew that he was screwed. It seemed everyone in town knew him, knew that he was 'rich' or knew of his father_...his real father..._ (which was even worse). It was a pretty small town; if you sneezed your neighbour three streets down could probably tell you what colour your snot was.

He sat there alone in the darkness for what seemed like hours, mind racing. The world seemed to move in slow motion, as if unable to keep up with his thoughts, and light and sounds were all blurred and warped together. His skin felt tingly, as if sensing all dingy crime filled beings that had sat in this very same room...in the very same chair...

He was high.

Murtagh knew that he was high...

He was high. . .

. . .and in a_ police_ station. . .

. . . . .after an officer pulled a suspicious packet of pills from his pocket.

Murtagh knew he was _definitely_ screwed. . .probably would end up in prison. Yet despite all of that impending threat, he could only think about Brom and how epicly pissed off he would be when he heard.

There were noises...muffled ones that drew him out of thought. Murtagh stilled his chattering mind, straining to listen to what they were. The noises continued, in varying tones like that of voices in conversation. Murtagh couldn't exactly hear what they were saying, yet he recognized the deep, gruff drawl that had barked at him after rather rough hands had pinned him down to his own car. He cringed involuntarily, remembering the officer that had man handled him, enjoying his discomfort and attempts of protest after he had shoved him into the back of the police car and sped off into the main town.

The voices soon hushed, and Murtagh realized suddenly that hands felt oddly cold. He managed to jam his fingers together, despite the cold metal around his wrists. He shivered inwardly, feeling instinctively alone.

Ironically the feeling was all too familiar to him, even when at home with Brom and Eragon. It was nothing new...he had learned to accept it, accept this isolation - and the notion that no matter how close he felt to someone, or wanted to be, he would always be alone.

There was no one here with him. He laughed almost bitterly...not Thorn...not Eragon...not even Brom - though he was literally the last person he would want here with him. (_had he even returned as yet?) _ Yet it was better than his current state. Being alone, although his fate...was the worst.

Alone.

The feeling seeped roughly through him, like a crude sober waking amid the pleasant mind-fog that he had hidden in for the past days. Murtagh cringed inwardly, feeling the savage inward twinge of clarity slowly wash over him. The medication was wearing off...and with it, the pleasant lull that he had buried himself in...making himself forget - the pain- all of it.

All of it was coming back now, slowly escaping like the hesitant release of fizz from a shaken bottle of coke. All the feelings that he had suppressed, that had slowly began resurfacing those weeks ago. All the nightmares ripping into his jittery mind at ungodly hours, the visions - of _him_...and those eyes - those sharp gray eyes that looked too much like his...of a voice he did not know calling him in dream after those god awful nightmares of Morzan ravaged him in slumber.

_'Murtagh...Murtagh...?' _It was always frantic this voice which rang out from the darkness.

"Yes ..." he would answer back...yet the reply was always the same, frantic...even more frantic than before.

_'Murtagh, where are you?** Murtagh?!**' _

Then a whisper.

_'Dear God...' _

Murtagh sat, unmoving, lost in his own mind. He didn't know what that voice was_...a memory?...something he had made up in his own head?_...Perhaps it was only apart of the dream, only apart of the chaos in his mind meant to drive him further to insanity...Perhaps he was already crazy...

He had thought this many times before. But despite past and current events, Murtagh felt within himself that he really was not crazy. And this did not seem like those nightmares he would have. This was different.

In every vision, in every nightmare he had ever had...of.._him..._It was always his own voice that Morzan would use. Murtagh thankfully remembered little of his father. . . one thing among them was his voice - he did not remember it. There was nothing save for his eyes that were sharply familiar to him, because...they were his own that stared back when he looked in the mirror. Yet the voice that rang through his head, repeating those few lines over and over was not his own. It was unknown to him...unfamiliar...yet the desperation in it unnerved him.

.

_'Murtagh, where are you? _**_Murtagh?!_**'

.

The sharp sound of a turning knob grabbed him from reverie, silencing the voice in turn. Murtagh's head snapped up at the sound, feeling that shitty feeling press upon him even more, and he knew now that he was dreadfully_ sober_. His back twinged - a soft pang; Yet it caused him to squirm uncomfortably as the door swung open. Remembering the agony that ripped through him only two days before, he feared what the next hour would bring.

Murtagh refrained from shrinking a little as he saw the bulky police officer who had arrested him walk into the dimly lit room. He had the sourest expression planted on his face, and he looked at Murtagh with a pure disgust as if he were the cause of all the pain, poverty and suffering in the world. The bulky officer seemed to channel all his aggression into that bulldog look of his as he stood over Murtagh, seemingly analyzing him for a silent moment. Murtagh did his best to avoid his eyes.

Murtagh noticed that this officer was middle aged, like most respectable ones in Varden, yet his manner...his accent...his aggression could not be compared to their own. It was charged..._his whole aura_ was charged, amplified as if he was a hair's wavelength above everyone else. It was clear that he did not understand the cool natured way of the Varden citizens. No, this officer was not from here at all.

He was stocky, short, yet made up for his lack of imposing height in his intense and unnecessary bombast and aggression. He was ruddy in complexion with heavy set moustache and beard and his eyes were an unremarkable blue in colour. Yet above them were furrowed the darkest eyebrows Murtagh had ever seen. They were a series of fissures and deep cracks along his forehead and mouth that made him look like he had a permanent scowl. (not like he was going to smile at Murtagh anyway).

It was a growl.

It took Murtagh a solid moment to comprehend that the officer had actually spoken to him as the stocky man turned abruptly on his heel and headed for the creaking door again. Murtagh looked utterly lost.

"I'm sorry...what?" Murtagh's voice was soft in inquiry.

All the self control of the officer seemed to fly through the window then. He erupted almost immediately at the query.

He marched over to Murtagh solid rage in his eyes...the throbbing vain in his head, and pushed his face mere inches from his own. Murtagh visibly flinched, inching backwards; the man looked like he was going to explode. His fleshy lips were tugged into a snarl and his stained brittle teeth looked like they would bite Murtagh if he flinched.

"I can _smell_ the drugs on you, boy. You rich people always think you're above the law." he hissed, then grabbed Murtagh's collar pulling him even closer than before. Murtagh looked terrified, forced to stare into the sharp angry eyes of his.

"Your going to jail...You know what they do to little rich brats like you, in jail?" his tone was a growl, set in a whisper. Murtagh felt completely sober then, fear hammering in his chest. The officer's grip tightened, his broken edged nails raking Murtagh softly in the throat.

"You're pretty...and young." he barked a mocking laugh...a solid, cruel chuckle. "...the boys in jail will have_ fun_ with you." The officer looked deranged as he smiled at the horrified look on Murtagh's face. He looked like a demon, enjoying the torment he inflicted. Murtagh trembled in his grasp, his words stabbing into him cruelly. And the twinge in his back turned into a solid throbbing pain. He began sweating, the horror lodged firmly in his chest, his limbs limp, and panic was on the edge of his consciousness. His vision swam a bit, his breath sharpened - and he knew that he was losing control. . .

.

_- **"Officer Loran...!"**_

The sharp call broke the spell.

_"I think it best if you unhand my client now..."_ the voice was oddly calm, cooling the fiery tension that had been set ablaze amid the dank interrogation room. _"Before I report you..."_

.

The last phrase was the sharpest as it rang out from the doorway. It seemed to stab into the officer, and instead of the panic in Murtagh's eyes, for a moment there was a flicker of it in the policeman's. Murtagh slumped back into his chair, as the officer unhanded him almost immediately...and rather roughly at that. Then, glaring thoroughly at Murtagh and the change of tone in his eyes, he murmured brusquely.

"You're lawyer's here..." He then walked hurriedly to the door, like an injured animal, or more accurately, like a man whose pride had been bruised.

Murtagh was slowly recovering...his mind slowly cooling from the electric panic that had gripped him before. The pain in his back gradually eased, receding to the previous twinge that had gripped him before. Remotely, there was a wonder in his gut. _Lawyer...?_ He must've heard wrong.

Murtagh sat there, dejectedly silent, staring at the warped reflection of himself on the dull metal table that he was seated at. He almost swore he heard the voice address the officer again. It had been thorny, yet completely cool and smooth like velvet.

_"If you go near my client again...so much as look at him, breath on him..."_ there was an extended pause._ "I'll have your badge."_

There was the shuffle of feet, as the officer quickly bustled out of the room like a bat out of hell. It was only when he was sure that he had left that Murtagh turned his gaze toward the doorway.

There was an older man standing there. He looked quiet and unassuming as he stood silently by the closed door observing Murtagh with calm dark eyes. Murtagh stared back, hesitant, yet curious.

The man stepped forward then, slowly, confidently as if he owned the room. Eyes keenly set upon him, Murtagh watched as he sat down across from him, resting his briefcase on the table.

The man spoke first.

"You've grown since I last saw you Murtagh."

The comment took him by surprise. Murtagh's guard went down then as curiosity got the better of him. "You...you know me...?"

The man chuckled, hand smoothing back the silver hairs on his head. Murtagh saw the ring on his finger - he was married.

"I've known you since before you were born..." the comment was left up in the air, as Murtagh's face sobered, but inwardly he was filled with thorough confusion.

"You knew my mother then.." Murtagh suggested quietly. He watched the man carefully, but he seemed un-phased. His eyes were unreadable.

"And your father." was the cool response.

Murtagh went silent for a moment, gathering his scattered thoughts.

"I didn't call for a lawyer." He said suddenly, mind registering the fact. His blue eyes darkened in suspicion. "Why are you here? Did the court appoint you?"

Murtagh guarded himself, cooling his expression to the mask of stoicism he usually wore.

"I'm not from the court." the man glanced at Murtagh, his dark eyes were like chasms - so deep that one might get lost in them. He then extended a hand to Murtagh who awkwardly grasped it through his hand cuffs. "I apologize for not introducing myself before. I'm Mr. Kingsman...Mr. Galabtorix Kingsman."

The blue in Murtagh's eyes seemed to pale at the introduction. His voice hitched. "The school's Chairman?"

He knew of him..._everyone_ knew of him. Galabtorix Kingsman was the most powerful man in Varden High; he was the Chairman of the Board...he either made all the decisions or finalized them. - it was he who had canceled the scholarship program that Nasuada had been apart of - if he remembered correctly. What was _he _doing _here? _Murtagh never imagined that he was a lawyer...A sudden thought swept through him.

_'Did Brom call him..?'_

Galbatorix nodded at the blurted response from Murtagh, indicating that he was indeed the Chairman. He then spoke again, his voice silk. "It was your father that called me after he heard what happened to you. He wanted me to defend you. I do think that this is all a big misunderstanding that I can clear up quickly however. "

So it _was_ Brom.

_Wait...Brom?_ Murtagh's face creased in worry.

"Brom...?" he spouted. "Brom's here...? But how did he know that-"

He shutup then, _'Thorn...it was Thorn...or Eragon must've told him._ Murtagh found himself a little relieved, yet unnerved at the same time. At least it wasn't the police who had called him - he _hoped_. But then, he would still have to explain to Brom what happened...he dreaded that. It took him a solid moment to realize that the older gentleman was glancing at him again. Murtagh noted it was the first time he had ever seen genuine emotion on his face. His black eyes were furrowed, his plump lips were pulled into a soft frown.

"No." the lawyer eyed him coolly from across the table, the expression not leaving his face. "Not you stepfather..."

Murtagh froze at that.

"It was _father _who wanted me to defend you. . ."

Murtagh was speechless as he sat there, feeling the cold from the metal table, the metal cuffs sink into him painfully. He gaped out silently, looking at Mr. Kingsman as if he'd been hit by a bus. His sharp blue eyes paled as the words sunk heavily into him.

His ...father?

His father had gotten him a lawyer...?

. .His father who had stabbed him...

. . .His father who had murdered his mother. . .

_. . .His father who was in prison._

_._

_His father..._**Morzan.**

-X-

Waking. . .

. . .she found herself, drenched, drowning in the aftershock. There was confusion, pain, panic...yet all of those feelings, emotions she should've felt were all masked by the numbness that swallowed her. Umber eyes were wide, disoriented, as a dull pain throbbed in her head and a soft trickle crawled down into her eye. The smell of sizzling exhaust was strong, and the car was drenched in darkness. Nasuada slowly wiped the blood from her eye, gingerly touching the gash that she had gotten above her hairline when her head hit the window. Blinking, she glanced at the window beside her, noting the smashed multi-reflections that gazed at her, the smear of blood across it.

They had crashed.

Brom had been on the phone then...She remembered that...

. . .

_"You haven't arrived as yet...?" His voice had been set in panic as he put the phone to his ear. Brown eyes were creased in worry. Night was descending fast and the road was dark in the distance. Nasuada glanced at him blankly from the other end of the car, coolly noting the way he was on edge. _

_"Thorn...you need to get there as fast as you can. I don't want **anyone** in there with him." His tone had that Principal way about it, like he was talking to an unruly student. There was a pause._

_"I'm getting there as fast as I can." It was a murmur, a hint of desperation that crept into Brom's voice right as he hung up. He seemed to stare into outer space for a solid moment, entrenched in whatever news had reached him. . .news he still hadn't told her of._

_He soon snapped out of it, addressing the taxi driver who was supposed to drive them home...but wait._

_- This wasn't the way home._

_Nasuada just registered that, and through the numb nonchalance that had, had her trapped for most of the trip back, there was a hint of suspicion._

_"Driver..." There was that authority in his voice again. "Its the one time I would ask anyone to do this...but, could you please go faster."_

_The taxi man looked a little unnerved, yet curious as he glanced at Brom through the car mirror. - He was fringing the speed limit -_

_She saw a look of comprehension pass between the two men. Brom stared squarely back at the taxi driver._

_"I'm asking you to break the speed limit."_

_. . ._

And break the speed limit he did.

Nasuada saw the dark outside, and wondered to herself how long she had been out. There were lights from the taxi blazing out ahead so she could not see what they had hit. There was the soft hiss of an alarm of some sort...or a siren, dying softly in the distance. Other than that, the night was drenched in morbid silence.

They had swerved...if she remembered correctly. They had swerved to miss a stray cat or...Nasuada didn't remember. But she knew that it had been an animal of come sort, and they had swerved..._and had hit something else._

She had a headache just thinking about it...her hand grabbed her forehead, but she screeched and flinched as it caught the gash. Her vision blurred a bit, glancing at the blood on her hand as she drew it back. Nasuada then blinked at her fingers in repressed horror. She realized that two of her fingers were crooked on her left hand. . .they were broken...but why didn't she feel-

It was blood. . .blood that had grabbed her attention then, sweeping the observation from thought.

There was blood on the seat beside her a large patch of it...and Brom -

Nasuada's eyes widened.

Panic set in.

_Brom was missing. _

Anxiety rushing hot through her, her mind racing, thoughts blurred and an urge of what she must do sliced through her..._She had to find him._ Nasuada slammed herself against the passengers door, ignoring the shooting pain in her arm. After two tries, the door gave way, and on the third she had succeeded in opening it. Nasuada then tumbled out of it, into the dark, cold night air.

They had crashed by the soft shoulder of the freeway. It was damp, as if it had rained recently, and the grass grew thick and high up to the knees. A small child could have lain in it, and would have remained completely hidden. There was a light...a weird blue light flashing out from behind the bonnet of the taxi car which had been crushed upward so the rest of the road in front lay hidden. Nasuada fell as her feet hit the ground...

Her legs were like spaghetti. She tried to lift herself, grabbing unto the car for support, and it was then that she felt it - the pain.

It was like liquid fire, like electricity shooting through her broken finger, up her arm and through her whole body. Nasuada opened her mouth to scream, but her voice was lost, and she could only inhale - gasp- sharply.

Her legs wobbled a bit, as the pain washed over her, and she felt weak as her vision swam. She leaned against the edge of the yellow car, fearing she would pass out. Umber eyes closed, waiting for the pain to subside.

It barely did.

Nasuada tried to think through the pain. _Brom...where was Brom...?_

She forced herself up and stumbled into the damp grass, calling after him.

"Brom...!" her voice was strained, the pain hot through her. "Brom...!" her voice cracked as the cold night air hit her over. She nearly tumbled into the grass, catching herself at the last moment.

"Br-" There was an answer.

"Nas-Nasuada..?" the voice was almost a murmur against a sudden breeze that swept across, but Nasuada had heard it. She rushed towards it, further panic cracking through the numbness.

Nasuada soon found Brom, on the ground...bleeding.

He was kneeling, bent over something...his hand drenched in blood. In his leg was a large shard of glass that had his leg soaked crimson. His face was pale, and there was pure fear in his eyes. It was a panic seared into his features, and it scared her when she saw it. He was breathing harshly, his hand pressing against something that oozed blood though his fingers. She looked closer at it...

Nasuada's eyes widened then, and she stumbled over to Brom, kneeling in the grass beside him.

"How long's he been there...?" Her voice was a whisper, as if she spoke any louder then the world would cave in on itself. She stared at the man under Brom's left hand, his other hand hung off him loosely..useless.

The taxi man lay there, pallid, groaning...His groans were haunting, slowly tempting her soul into despair. He was bleeding under Brom's hand as it pressed unto his chest, trying to get it to stop. But it was too fast...too much... She could see him fading away beneath Brom, who seemed to panic even more at the change.

Brom looked at her, helplessness in his eyes. " I can't stop the bleeding..." It was the first time Nasuada had ever seen him so frightened. "My phone...its in the car. Call an ambulance."

She had rushed then, racing to the car through the thickened grass, tumbling as fast as she could. She reached the car in a couple of seconds, diving into the darkness for Brom's phone. It took few moments well, but she found it wedged in between the seats. Nasuada whipped it out as she stepped back into the gentle light of the half moon. Her face fell in horror, and she felt then as if she would cry.

The phone was cracked...it's whole screen was shattered. It was gone...dead..._useless_.

She rushed back to Brom then, her face betraying the news. Brom looked as if it was_ he_ who died then. His eyes were wide in dread, and what looked like a tear shone hotly on his cheek.

This man was to die...he was to die in his arms.

Nasuada felt her gut twist in pain, sorrow threatening to swallow her... and then anger gripped her. Her eyes narrowed, and she forced it out. NO...this man would not die tonight.

She rushed off then, bounding through the grass. She heard Brom call after her...his voice faded in the background with the quiet haunting groans of the taxi driver. She was panting, and her breath was frigid and painful in her chest. Her finger felt like it was on fire. Umber eyes glanced deliriously about her, searching, and then she saw it, the quiet flashing of a blue light a little distance from where their own car had crashed.

She ran into the road over to it, urgency set as solid as the pain that racked through her.

Nasuada stumbled over to the car, almost falling unto it. Her eyes were widened realizing that it was a police car. The front was practically mangled beyond recognition. It had taken a pretty good hit. She stood before the crushed bonnet, in the heat of one of the head lights which still somehow worked by some miracle. The moon light was soft, catching the white of the car, the solid accents of blue.

She felt her gut go rigid as she hurried to the driver's side of the car. Nasuada strained her eyes trying to peer through the fogged window. She wiped her hand against the glass which barely cleared. Her eyes were knotted in concentration.

There was a man stretched across the steering wheel, and another shorter figure beside him. Nasuada stood, taking her gaze from the window. The doors were locked. She didn't know what to do. She remembered the panicked eyes, the gasps of the dying man beneath Brom's hand. A rage filled her -

This man would not... he could not die.

She stepped back balancing herself a bit and just went for it before she changed her mind.

Her foot came crashing down on the glass, sending a shooting pain up her leg. It barely cracked. Nasuada stepped back, almost tripping at she glanced in desperation at it. The familiar panic lingered heavily at the base of her stomach.

_What the hell was she going to do...The man was dying, gasping for life...but dying nonetheless. He only had few minutes..._

She glanced at the ground around her anxiously, desperately. Her eyes lit up as they found a fairly large rock.

. . .

The notion that she had just smashed through the window of a _police_ car, vaguely occurred to Nasuada as she swung open the driver's door, and pushed herself inside. The police officer was unconscious _or._..A sinking feeling gripped her at the thought.

She pressed a hand softly against his limp wrist...

She almost gasped the relief.

He was still alive. There was a pulse. It was very weak, but it was there nonetheless.

Rummaging through the awkwardly bent dashboard of the car, Nasuada found the police car radio. She flicked on the button, almost rejoicing as she heard the ear piercing screech come from it. _It was alive...It was working!_ She pressed the mic up to her mouth, as her eyes glanced to the slumped figure beside her.

She froze then.

She knew those highlights, those dark blue nails, slumped against the slowly deflating air bag. A dread grabbed her then as the operator on the other end rambled on...

Slowly her dark hand reached over to gently lift the mass of blond hair shadowing the girl's face.

Nasuada dropped the mic then, seeing the familiar face underneath - the awkward bend of her broken bloody nose.

It was a gasp.

.

_"Saphira...?"_

* * *

Yes, I know I am terrible. Amid all the chaos of Murtagh's arrest, I've brought even more problems.

It seems things with Murtagh were spiraling into a mass of confusion and destruction in the interrogation room with that god awful Officer Loran...yet an unlikely hero comes to rescue him. Yet what's the beef that this officer has with him...? And even more importantly...

- What do you guys make of Galbatorix and not to mention his revelation?

Heh, bet you thought it was Thorn, that Saphira and her dad crashed into...

Nope.

Yet despite escaping the horrible car crash that I put Nasuada, Brom, Saphira and her dad through, Thorn seems to be in internal chaos too in his memory of what happened when he made the heart wrenching decision that lead to Murtagh being 'sent away' to that 'place'.

Its a bit of a theme here - Chaos and Panic - seem to go abounding in this Chapter. Hope you enjoyed it.

**Helpful Hint**: Things will only get worse...even when they seem they're better.

Stay tuned for the next one, which I promise, I will start writing as soon as possible.

Nuff love to all the readers and reviewers!

-S.B.


	16. Chapter 16: Family Ties

Thanks for all the support in the last chapter. Special thanks to BrightWatcher, Restrained Freedom, Laila,Bookworm741, and Nell who reviewed the last chapter. Thanks to all those who read this chapter as well!

In answer to Laila - No worries, although this story has gotten darker and deeper, there will be moments of everything including fluff - after all our main characters are Murtagh and Nasuada, and we do have a friendship/interest growing between Thorn and Saphira. I have not written fluff separately, sorry, but I've just been focusing on this story at present and an original story that I am in the process of revamping.

**Special Thanks to Restrained Freedom for a name for the teacher Brom was dating - Islanzadi it is! Iz/Izzie for short.**

In this chapter we see the aftermath of the last chapter and all the POVs of everyone in the last chapter as well.

I wrote the majority of the chapter in one night in what I refer to as my Mad Hatter mode. lol. Hope you all enjoy and remember to read and review!

Band on Repeat: Three Days Grace - wrote this whole chapter, listening to "Chalk Outline" and "Last to Know"

* * *

_"You don't chose your family. They are God's gift to you as you are to them." - Desmond Tutu  
_

Chapter Sixteen

Family Ties

Nasuada didn't know why she had done it...but she had. It wasn't a decision. It was an instinct. Instinct had found her there, amid the blaring noises of the siren, the shouting of the paramedics. It was instinct that found her there in the back of the ambulance, holding his bloodied hand, staring into his fading brown eyes.

She had never watched the life slip from someone's eyes before. She had never lied to someone as he died, telling him that everything was going to be o.k, even while he bled out - breathing lowered to desperate gasps. But she lied...and she found it surprisingly easy; for even _she_ found herself imagining despite the reality- That he was to see his little boy again that he had talked endlessly about during the drive; That he would watch him grow up; That he would not die...not tonight...not now.'

- But the reality was that this man was dying and he was dying fast.

'Eric...' her voice had lowered as she sat beside him. She remembered seeing his name on the name tag he had worn now smeared with blood. They had both gone quiet listening to the blaring siren as the ambulance sped at lightening speed down the road. 'Eric...We're almost there, just hold on.'

'Hold on...' her voice was a whisper, and it seemed she was speaking more to herself than to him.

The pain in her broken fingers was irrelevant. She was irrelevant...he was _everything_. She would not have him die. Her mind drifted, then she grabbed hold of it forcing it to the present. She would not think about the past - not _now_...Not while this man-

_There was an obscene bleating, a solid blare that stung through the tension filled air._

Nasuada did not know what was happening.

The two paramedics sprung up at the same moment, rushing to his side. One of them shoved her quickly aside, as she watched in terror as he flat-lined right there in front of her. She slumped unto the railings, seating herself in shocked defeat to the side of the ambulance. Her broken fingers, the gash in her head throbbed, but it was her heart that hurt the most...and yet somehow it seemed that she did not feel it. She _refused_ to feel it...not now - _not now._

Beside her, seated, Brom looked like he was in shock. He was frozen in position, mind not registering the knocks and sways of his body as they banged roughly against the side of the ambulance whenever it swerved around another vehicle, or took a sharp corner. His brown eyes were glazed lifeless as if he was enveloped in some past nightmare...

Nasuada watched him silently and she understood now, that they were all alike, she, him, and this taxi driver. They were all connected by this hell they had endured, because they had endured it_ together_. Just like how, Brom was connected to Murtagh...but no matter how she imagined she would never truly understand that. She hadn't been there. . .

. . .

_He was bleeding out too fast. _

_The child's screams were unconscionably ripping at his sanity, his tears tore him through. He was screaming for her...screaming her name...but she wasn't there. She was dead...his mother had been dead for over a week, and it was only him - a stranger- there, frozen in the back of the ambulance with him._

_Brom was in a panic - the paramedics even more so. There was so much and no more they could do. There was so much blood...too much._

_The child was screaming in agony - his back torn open. Blood poured over the gurney in gushing rivers. The siren blared, the child screamed, maddening him even more - _

_Soon, Brom found himself screaming too. His were eyes bloodshot; his breath stunk of alcohol. He was drunk and covered in blood - the child's blood. The paramedics looked scared, trying to calm him, trying to save the child._

_He was hollering madly at them when the child's screams softened gradually to haunting whimpers...and soon enough, there was nothing. The little Murtagh lay limply there on the blood soaked stretcher, passed out..._

_And as the ambulance swerved into the large parking lot of the hospital the unmistakable blare of the machine ripped through all the panic. And Brom froze then, his shouting fading to abrupt silence - eyes staring horrified at the heart rate monitor - at the flat blue line that ran across it._

_The child, he was dead._

_. . ._

_He was dead_.

Despite everything...that she had said. Despite all that wishing and fucking hoping, despite her trying _everything_...he was dead.

Nasuada sat dejected, her mind enveloped in the loud silence. Her gaze favoured that of Brom as the ambulance sped into the hospital lot. The whirs of the ambulance were silent screeches in the distance. Her mind was entrenched in white noise, confusion..._why was this happening...? _She didn't.._couldn't_ understand.

She stared at all the blood that stained her hands, soaked her dress...his and hers. And the numbness seeped in then, along with all the cauldron of emotion that ripped through, chewed through her like blazing fire. She was vaguely aware of the paramedics trying to revive him; vaguely aware of Brom murmuring to himself enveloped in dark memories. . .

.

- "D_on't die, Murtagh... I'm so sorry Selena...God, please don't let him die" -_

_._

She was vaguely aware that they had reached the hospital then, the ambulance siren dying out to silence...the doctors rushing out to meet them; vaguely aware of the back doors being swung open, of rushing demands, of stats being reeled off by the paramedics as they handed Eric over...wheeling him hurriedly off out of sight.

She was vaguely aware of herself as she was ushered up and out by a pair of gloved over worked hands. Someone was talking to her...she thought, she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything anymore. She saw the hospital there, the huge white building. She saw people rushing around inside through the glass doors...people sick and _dying_...like Eric the taxi driver - _like. . ._

_Her heart clenched at the memory._

She was too heavy with all this. This was too much...This was all _too much._

All that pierced through her mind was his eyes, fading away...the blood on her hands...the horrible sound as he gasped for air...the blood that poured out his chest, trickling steadily unto the floor.

What ripped through her the most was that horrid blaring sound the heart rate monitor had made that obliterated everything, even the white noise in her head. The sound haunted her...it would haunt her forever.

The hand that guided her, let her go to open the door, and Nasuada felt herself loose then, her blood run cold. She could see him being rushed off, the trail of blood on the floor following him. She felt the depression descend upon her like the plague.

_Beep..._

The noise was faint, as the gurney turned into an obscure hall...the swinging door stood stuck on its hinges, allowing her one last view of his limp body.

_Beep...Beep...Beep..._

Her then eyes widened slowly seeing the slow rise and fall on the monitor, seconds before he was wheeled out of sight. Her heart tightened in hope.

_He was alive!_

The glass door swung open and she realized that she could hear Brom in the background behind her. She stepped through...a small smile cracked unto the frigid state that was her face.

She felt the tension leave her, the adrenaline evaporate from her body. He was alive...he was alive - _the notion strangely did not comfort her_. Her legs were heavy as she crossed the threshold. And the pain she had ignored gripped her, weighing her down. It radiating through her muscles, cracked through her bones to tear into her soul, tainting it dark, poisoning her...She was wounded, bleeding inside even more than Eric the taxi man had...It was _she_ who was dying. Yet the smile remained, a porcelain fixture to her face, while inside she was breaking.

Nasuada felt herself buckle then, her blood freeze in her veins; she felt herself falling...heard the cry of dismay from the hands that had guided her. Nasuada felt the darkness grab her roughly, drenching her vision, stealing the cold breath that whistled out her lungs. She was out before she hit the floor.

-X-

.

It was your _father _who wanted me to defend you. . ."

.

Murtagh found himself speechless in panicked confusion...yet he couldn't make it stop. He couldn't stop those silky words tearing through him...radiating through his mind. This...this was not...it simply **was not true.**

Blue eyes were wide in fright, disbelief. A pair of dark ones bore into him, ripping into his soul, ripping away all the truths he had known..._were they truths? _He was sweating; _his back hurt like a motherfucker-_.

Galbatorix was calm through it all, still seated while Murtagh stood in frozen panic, shaking his head at him.

A cauldron of emotion had him ragged; Murtagh knew he was losing it...He just couldn't understand - How...Why.._**.HOW...WHY?!**_

_What the** fuck **was going on...!_

Those were the only things that pommeled through his mind like an incessant saw, gnawing at him while the lawyers words replayed over and over in his consciousness in the background like a mp3 player stuck on repeat.

.

"It was your father who wanted me to defend you. . ."

_- Fuck no...his father was rotting in prison..._

_._

"No...no...I don't believe you..." His voice was cracked, whispered when he spoke at last, yet blue eyes were creased in a kind of horror only unwilling belief could provoke. The pain in his back was slicing through him like a knife in butter. It was smooth almost, grabbing him in horrible spasms to the depths of agony, and then releasing him from its grip in almost vocal relief. Eyes glanced suspiciously at the small smile that had swept over the lawyer's face at his comment.

"Your disbelief, Murtagh, does not change the truth of the matter..." Galbatorix's voice was quiet. He motioned for Murtagh to sit in the very same chair that he had sprung up out of abruptly at the news.

Murtagh was as rigid as steel. He eyed him suspiciously for a moment with weak eyes as the agony in his body burned with an unquenchable fire. He felt like he was going mad, but in the midst of everything there was a scruple of consciousness seemingly untouched; it was the only part of his mind in calm collection in the midst of a sea of chaos and pain. It was that tiny, untouched cell that kept him from falling off the edge. He made towards the chair, then paused for a moment, before a wave of pain stabbed at him again, and he knew he would fall if he stood any longer.

Murtagh literally hobbled over to the seat as the pain dipped for a second . He almost gasped openly as he caught his breath in the same moment, but Galbatorix did not see. His dark eyes were trained on a small stack of documents that he had lain out before him after taking them from his suitcase. Murtagh slumped noisily into the chair, half wondering at them for a moment - the other half of him feared that he would throw up on the table, as a wave of nausea hit him. His blue eyes looked sunken and cold sweat slicked over him clumping pieces of his coal black hair unto his forehead. Murtagh was a mess.

"How do you know ..._him." _It was the one question among the trillions that managed to squeeze through his faded lips. His voice was weak, but it was obvious by the hard inflection on the word, just who Murtagh was talking about.

The smile on Galbatorix's face deepened, and yet strangely it did not reach his eyes. Blue eyes narrowed at the display thinking the way he favoured that fucking Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland - with that same god awful smile. That same fucking cat who knew everything and wouldn't tell a god-damned soul...who enjoyed everybody scrambling about like idiots, while the world burned in chaos around them.

_Yea..._

_It was definitely that smile._

There was a brief moment, after the query when Galbatorix glanced down at the documents before him again and Murtagh's eyes further narrowed in suspicion. _There was something in those documents..._

"I been representing the Forsworn household since your grandfather moved up to the Varden..." Black eyes were fixed on Murtagh.

"That was when your father was in his teens..." he added as an afterthought. His eyes drifted lazily across the room as if evoking memory.

"I was a young lawyer then myself, and your grandfather employed me to settle an issue with some of the deeds of the land that he had purchased. He was so impressed that afterwards he decided to employ my services for his whole household." His tone was cool, soothing. It took Murtagh a moment to become un-entangled in the calming voice he had to grasp what he had just told him.

"Your the family lawyer..." He swallowed that in, as Galabatorix's eyes hinted a '_yes'. _He was lost for a notable moment before realization hit him. _  
_

_-But that didn't answer a god damned thing- 'Why was he here now...And how the hell did _His Father_ who was locked the hell up in jail, know that he had been arrested...know to call this lawyer for him...How the HELL did he know when he had just gotten arrested **a few hours ago**?!" - _

And suddenly, something came to him.

.

_" I'm sorry."_ Her voice was clear to him, eating away at him as her image stabbed through his mind. _"I'm afraid this is our last deal Murtagh..."_

.

'Last deal'_, abso-fucking-lutely._ Just like the mafia, "When the jobs done..._Leave no damn strings attached...' _Yea, She had screwed him beyond repair,and even more horribly than he would have imagined.

It was SHE who had called his father, he was sure of it now. Elva..._the little bitch_...What the hell did he do to her to make her hate him so? - to call the very man who was the source of his nightmares. She knew his father was the biggest horror in his life. She knew everything even more than anyone else - because it was she who had the letters. She had kept his secret. And now she was using it to bury him...

Calling his father would equal a nightmare he did not want to imagine, _especially if Brom knew_- Elva knew that...She had fucked him even though he had done what she asked.

He remembered how she had hugged him suddenly at the bleachers, hands slipping in between his jacket to hold him. He had never resisted, only standing there rigidly, and now Murtagh realized that she had planted that packet on him. . _.It was she who had probably called the police as well._ He had wondered even through the medicated fog in his mind, how that cop had just frisked him without reason, dragging him out of the car as he sat quietly, waiting for Eragon to come out of the grocery store. Murtagh had never understood...but _now_ he did.

"I was framed..." He said finally, swallowing harshly as the spasm in his back came again, yet this time it was noticeably thinner in intensity. It was all clear to him now. He and she had swam through rivers of shit together - mostly of her causing- and she had drowned him in it to come up clean on the other side. Murtagh felt his blood boil; how he _hated _her.

Galbatorix glanced at him idly for a second before his gaze was taken up by the documents in front of him. "I know." came the short murmur.

Murtagh looked shocked. "What? How would you possibly know that...I-"

"Officer Loran." the lawyer said, his voice was bowed in silky threads. "He has a vendetta against you obviously. His daughter, Vanessa, was kicked out of Varden High for unfavourable behaviour behind the school compound. "

The older man shoved one of the documents over to Murtagh who stopped it keenly with his fingers. Under his pale thumb was a picture of a smeared face teen girl, who looked even angrier than he did. Next to the picture was a letter from the Varden High School Board. Murtagh noted the seal on top. Essentially the letter informed the parent - '_Mr. Leonard Loran' _that his daughter was being officially expelled from the institution because of her _'incessant misconduct'_. Murtagh's blue eyes froze as he saw the signature of Brom - and beside it- there was the unmistakable signature of Mr. Kingsman.

Murtagh looked up at Galbatorix, an undecipherable expression etched on his face. He noted the way the lawyer's black eyes gleamed at him like a snake's would.

"And as you are the stepson to the Principal" Galbatorix continued, his voice quiet. ", this was Officer Loran's way of revenge - planting those drugs on you - would ruin your chances of excelling by stamping your record with a felony; Just like how he perceives his daughter's own record was ruined by her expulsion by your Stepfather."

"No - " Murtagh looked shocked as the words reeled from Galbatorix's lips like he had rehearsed them for hours in front of a mirror. And they were so goddamned believable! "It was Elva...! - she hates m-"

"Well, that's what we'll tell the judge if this case goes to court..." Galbatorix yawned momentarily, interrupting him again. "Which it won't. That evidence cannot be held up in court anyway - the pills could have been prescribed - and even more importantly, they didn't take a urine sample." He smiled that cheshire cat smile.

"Well according to Varden Law, _they couldn't take one without your lawyer present now could they_. " He looked at his watch in boredom, gray hair glinting in the sharp spazzing light of the flickering bulb.

"Took me _how many hours _to get here after I got the news...?" He then glanced back at Murtagh with blank eyes. "If they take a sample now, whatever the hell was in your system would be long gone..."

Murtagh was speechless as Galbatorix finished, not even batting an eye. It took him a solid moment to comprehend everything.

The way Galbatorix made it sound...he would get away scot free. But, at what cost?

Galbatorix was going to ruin this man's career, if this went any further. Although he found himself thoroughly in dislike for the officer, Murtagh could not do this to him and be so dishonest too...no, this was Elva's fault -

.

'_Whatever was in your system would be long gone...' _The words came back to him in an afterthought.

-Wait...how did Mr. Kingsman even know if he had been taking anything -

.

He posed the question, seeing that slithering smile on Galbatorix's face right after. He cringed inwardly at it.

The older man leaned forward towards him, his voice a murmur.

"I know _everything..._"

He then stood up slowly, looking at Murtagh as his words chilled belatedly through the teen's bones. The lawyer stared at him with unreadable eyes. His hands were on those documents again, and he patted another pile before him that Murtagh had not noticed. The smile had disappeared from his face and all that was left was the deep black void that were his eyes.

"The question is, Murtagh..._do _**you**_ want to know everything_?"

-X-

By the time the ambulance arrived, Saphira had already come to. She had been disoriented, her expression mixed with horror when she saw her father lying there; but Nasuada had quickly calmed her assuring her that he was still alive, that two ambulances had arrived...that everything would be ok.

It was like a miracle, seeing her there, huddled in the car beside her, holding her hand in the dark. It was a miracle that her father was still alive as they strapped him to the gurney, wheeling him quickly to the ambulance. She had been crying - she never cried - Nasuada held her, her umber eyes looking haggard as they stared out into the grass where the EMT's had taken the taxi driver mere moments before. Her mind had been ragged then and disoriented as she sat in the midst of all the chaos. Now, hours later, she sat on the edge of a hospital bed, listening to faint cries of the machinery in the background. The adrenaline had petered out of her bones - leaving her mind unclouded. Now her thoughts were clear, and now, she found herself not understanding.

_What had Nasuada been doing there...?_

Wasn't she supposed to be in bed, roasting with fever, and flu...? - But she had seemed perfectly fine as she reassured her that her dad would be o.k. before being huddled into another ambulance herself.

Why was she with Principal Brom in an _airport_ cab?

. . . Why were driving on the freeway when they lived on the _opposite_ side of town...?

The questions came belatedly, tinkering into her mind, as the minutes passed by like years. She watched the clock - the slow tick of the 'seconds' hand as it whirled its way in a snail pace around its face. Her father was fine...Yes...he was fine.

The doctor's had said so, yet there was a distinct uneasiness in her belly. She felt queasy in panic, but perhaps that was merely the true impact of the situation sinking heavily into her. She didn't want to think about it - but the thought was unavoidable - and so painful.

-_ What if she had lost him?_

Dear god, what would she have done...?

She could not imagine her life without him...Without those god awful lectures of his over the simplest of things; or those dinner casseroles that even after seven years he had still not mastered; or even all that fishing and playing baseball in their back yard...And his insisting on treating her like the son he never had. What if she had lost the man who had cared for her all her life? her rock, her boy repellant...what if she had lost her dad...?

She felt her shoulders slump, her eyes were fixed on the windows were the curtains had been drawn. She didn't want to think about it...she didn't want to stay in this sterile room - with the creepy "Get Tested!" poster glaring down at her from the cheery blue wall, sitting comfortably beside one that showed a teenage mother. She hobbled quickly out of the hard bed and scurried towards the door. She had to see her dad - she had to see if he was alright.

The bandage on her nose was snug, and she was aware that they had dosed her with medication. Yet her nose felt heavy, and weighted as if it were some foreign object that the doctors had taped to her face. - Probably the anesthetic still working. And she was glad it did. She did not think she could manage the pain right now...

She managed to huddle down the hall, which was surprisingly empty. If it was one thing the Varden halls were - they were usually not empty. It was a small town yes, and there were rarely any serious cases other than the occasional belly cramps that turned out to be gastroenteritis or the somewhat the even rarer cases of dehydration or heatstroke in the scorching summers, but nonetheless the hospitals halls were usually filled. There were always "the worriers" - that's what she had heard a cousin's call them - she happened to be a nurse. The worriers were usually the very elderly or new mothers, and almost always perfectly healthy, yet they could be found in emergency rooms at all hours of the morning, and night - complaining of some odd pain or imagined fever, or a weird mole on their backsides. Almost always they were able to tell their doctor the life threatening diagnosis that they had searched 'WebMD' for, and they were always bawling for attention. As Saphira tittered across the halls, the soles of her gym shoes scuffing against the squeaky floors, she noted that none of these people seemed to be here.

She was tired, and the medication was making her drowsy. Still she pushed through it, managing to round the hall into one of the foyers on the ward. In the midst of the wide brightly lit space was a large wooden counter where two nurses sat, eyes planted to the television where the late night news was coming on. They were so thoroughly intent upon the tiny screen that they did not see when the petite girl scurried up to the counter.

"Excuse me..."

No answer. There eyes were wide and glazed on the screen. Through the drowsiness, Saphira felt herself get irritated. She wanted..._needed_ to find her dad.

She banged rudely on the counter, interrupting the silent staring of the two women seated in the cubicle. The obtrusive sound seemed to startle them. She expected them to be pissed, but they seemed only surprised. The older of the two glanced up at her, eyes narrowing a bit in curiosity.

"May I help you, little miss?"

Saphira ignored the innocent quip to her stature, as she leaned against the counter. Immediately her mind flashed to her father.

"Yes, I'm looking for my father..."

"What's your father's name? How long did he come in? Do you know what ward he's in?"

The questions were reeled off, by the other nurse who seemed to be suddenly more interested. Her brunette hair had been pulled into a tight bun, and Saphira noted the way her face favoured that of a little hamster.

"My father is Dennis Bjartskular..I mean..._Officer Dennis Bjartskular.._" she corrected, deeming his police stature important in this case. She did not know, but perhaps it would make the nurses more eager to help her.

"He came in about three hours ago...I think..I'm not really sure what time we got here..." she murmured more to herself than anything but the nurses heard her clear enough. Saphira focused on them once more, the desperation in her voice evident. "We were in a car accident of the freeway, and I don't know what ward he's in...I need to find him..!"

Her tone seemed to frighten the older nurse for a moment, who then proceeded to scratch her graying head in thought, while the other younger nurse, stared at Saphira incredulously, then back at the television, then back at Saphira.

"Wait...that was you guys?!" she pointed at the television screen propped precariously across them them on a high perch. Saphira turned towards it in confusion.

-X-

There was no mistaking it. There on the screen behind the gaunt looking reporter who looked like she had missed several meals that day...or..that week really - there was the unmistakable gleam of a mangled police car. A pair of sea green eyes glared at the television for a moment, wondering at the affair before turning back towards the moment at hand. Thorn found himself in the smokey, must filled, dank police station, which hummed of a dreariness of the ages. When he stepped through the door, he had been taken at a loss, silent for a moment as panic stumbling feet found him slowly tottering in confusion through the gray painted building. He had been so on edge that when he had stepped into the slow lazy buzz of the station, scarcely attended by any officers, Thorn found himself unsure of what to do for a moment and just stood there staring up at the television screen which sat prominently at the side of a large desk where a lone female officer sat, sleeping lazily beside it.

Seeing the other officers obviously occupied, he caught himself. Then thinking of his friend he forced himself forward towards the end of the room where the sleeping police officer sat. He reached the counter in a couple of strides, then hesitantly tapped the woman's shoulder, murmuring an "excuse me, Maam" before stepping back as she belatedly stirred.

The woman he realized as her tired eyes met his, was not pleasant at all. Not only were her incredibly red eyes narrowed at him, but she was far from attractive and wore a look that said she would've shot him dead there, just for interrupting her rest. Thorn would've flinched then, had he not turned to the screeching sound of a door being slammed open, and an angry stocky officer darting out of it. Thorn ignored the expectant and rather pissed off look of the female officer before him as he saw a silent gray haired figure at the doorway staring out after him for a silent second before quietly stepping inside and closing the gray door behind him. Thorn stood there with a quizzical expression planted on his face. The man's face was familiar...vaguely familiar to him as if he knew him in passing, or had seen him once somewhere. Yea, that was perhaps it, but he just could not remember where.

"Yes?!" The snap got Thorn's attention and he turned back to the officer to see just how pissed she was. She was fully alert now, all sleep leaving her eyes yet there were still red in the aftermath of her short lived event.

"Uh...Yes...I - Uhm.." he prattled on for a moment at a loss for words. He suddenly remembered leaving Eragon in the car and half wondered if that had been right to do. The boy was still seemingly in shock, sitting silently in the front seat even when he shot out the car door heading for the station's door. He wondered at him for a moment, before the thought was taken away by that unimpressed look of the officer. "I..my friend was taken into custody this afternoon." He finished hurriedly.

The officer's look said everything. "What does that have to do with me..." she yawned at him rudely then proceeded to whip out the large pile of documents that she had been sleeping on. Her head dipped in between the pages, before a sudden and uncharacteristic anger gripped Thorn. He had driven all this way, endured all that panic, nearly skidded off the fucking main road - for _this? _Without warning, he slammed a tanned forearm on the pile of papers, startling the officer, before glaring at her dead in the eyes. His lips were a thin pink line.

"I need to see my friend.." he said his voice tight and on edge. His eyes were glinted in anger and the female officer could only stare at him, mouth agape. "He was arrested this afternoon. His name is Murtagh Morzanson, and you'd _better_ have information on him."

The edge on Thorn's voice did not die out, even when a crass, deep baritone rang out behind him in answer.

"So your the rich brats friend huh? Good to know he keeps company equally rude as himself..."

Thorn turned towards the voice thoroughly irritated when his gaze met that of the officer that he had seen practically running out of the room in the dimly lit hall next to them. The man was scary to say the least but Thorn didn't notice. The childish and somewhat doting Thorn was gone, replaced by someone dark and angry. He was on edge, all he could think about was his friend and in that moment he felt as if he would tear open the very walls just to find him. He felt no fear...not there, not in front of an armed and thoroughly upset Officer Loran.

"You've seen him..." Thorn nodded at the Officer, ignoring the deadly look in his eyes. The officer merely glared back at him, folding his muscled arms in front of his bulky chest.

"And what of it..boy?" the 'Boy' was almost spat at him, and Thorn felt himself even angrier then.

"Listen, I don't have time for this. Ok? I just need to see him, _now." _He was oddly bold in front of the officer, who stared at him for a minute, his eyes betraying the slight surprise that gripped him at Thorn's braveness. No one had dared speak to him that way, especially not a child.

"I'm not a child.." Thorn growled as if reading his thoughts. "And neither is Murtagh, and we both have rights. And given that I assume you haven't filed charges as yet, I demand to speak with him this very minute..." Thorn was almost in the Officer Loran's face, and the man growled equally back at him, matching his bravado with his own angry nature. He shoved the teenager back with a heavy hand before putting his hand menacingly on his hip, conveniently where his gun had been strapped.

"You know who your talking to boy?"

"Obviously someone with a hearing problem...or I shouldn't have to repeat myself.." was the snark reply. The Officer leaned over to Thorn, his hands brushing against the cold metal of his gun. His voice was hushed, tight.

"You wanna say that again, _boy_?"

Thorn's eyes narrowed even further, yet his anger, his frustration, his determination did not slip, he stood erect, taller than Officer Loran, and matched his threatening stare with one of his own.

"You know they say that rich people get away with murder; ruin the lives of those who oppose them. I wonder then, What one would do to a rabid brained, under payed, overrated snarly Varden Officer who threatened his best friend with his gun...?" his toned lightened in question.

"Why wouldn't you think he'd _ruin_ his life...strip him of _everything_ he ever had, _or ever would have_, make him untouchable and loathed throughout all the town, _wouldn't you think so, **Sir**_?

The officer backed off then, seeing the simmering wrath in Thorn's eyes as the words slipped coldly from his lips. His look reminded him of that slither mouthed lawyer that had interrupted his 'interrogation' of the rich brat those few minutes ago. He swallowed a bit, yet stood angrily glaring at the teenager. He then cocked a lazy finger at the hall away from them.

"He's in that room...but you can't go in." Thorn turned away despite the warning and headed towards the hall. Surprised at the insolence, the officer scurried after him for a moment, even as the female officer watched from her station, thoroughly interested at the mini-show down between the two. Leonard Loran caught the teenager by the arm, right at the mouth of the hall, a couple of yards from the large gray door that sealed off the interrogation room.

Thorn turned to him almost growling, as the Officer's grip held like iron on his arm.

"Where do you think you're going boy?" He spat angrily. "I said, you aren't allowed to go in there..!"

Thorn coldly shook of the man's hand. His eyes were as equally stony as his tone. "That spoiled brat, you keep talking about, he's not only my best friend, he's a fucking _brother_ to me, and I'd be damned before I let him suffer in there alone at the hands of _you lot_.." he waved his arm around towards the rest of the sleepy police station, disdain on his face.

The officer went silent for a moment, seemingly awed by Thorn. "The balls on you, boy"

Thorn opened his mouth to retort, when the loud screeching sound of an opening door interrupted him. Both the officer and best friend turned to the sound to see the unassuming form of a slender silver haired man stalking confidently out of the room. His smiled politely at them, before skittering past, leaving the door opened, and Thorn stared after him in disturbed awe, still not recalling where exactly he knew him from, and noting rather strangely how his smile did not reach his pit black eyes.

Another creak swung quietly through the air, as the door widened again and another figure shuffled timidly out into the doorway. Thorn did not notice then, his gaze was fixed upon the lawyer who had gone over to the same female police officer who had been rude to him before. He seemed to be chatting to her for a bit, and handing her a small file of documents; he then pointed towards the them - or rather the door behind them. Thorn's eyes narrowed at him for a moment, wondering what the hell he was doing in the room that Murtagh was supposedly in. He remembered Brom's distinct words to him over the phone and felt even more uncomfortable at the moment. _"I don't want **anyone **in there with him."_

He was locked in concentration feeling a wariness cleft at his being, as the lawyer glanced back towards them and nodded for a bit. He soul did not take to his gentle nature, to his deceitful smile...There was something wrong here, and lost in contemplation of the strange feeling he felt, Thorn almost did not hear the half whispered surprise behind him.

_"Thorn?!"_

The best friend turned immediately at the sound, his ear cocked, to see the haggard beaten down figure of Murtagh standing half swayed in the doorway. Murtagh was a mess, his uniform even more so, he looked completely disheveled and tired as if he hadn't slept in days. Thorn glanced at him for a split second before reaching towards him and grabbing him into a strong embrace. He sighed in thorough relief having his friend in his arms.

"Murtagh..."

-X-

In the truck, things were not as awkward as he had anticipated. There was silence, yes, and that was to be expected, but the horror and accusatory eyes, voices, and the tension that had gripped him then in that police station had been abandoned and Murtagh allowed himself to settle beside his brother who had opted for the backseat as he had. Thorn sat in front, speeding..._again_, but for different reason this time. This time he was not racing to help a friend, towards a police station, this time he was racing towards the Varden Hospital.

The windows were wound up to shield out the icy wind that laced the night. Murtagh clung to the warmth that seemed to escape his own skin and he slithered closer towards his brother who had taken to staring at him silently throughout the car ride. Murtagh wished his mind was at ease despite the absence of tension in his body, but he could not escape the aftermath of the mental torment that he had endured - nor that he would have to face. He could feel Thorn's suspicion, and all too worse his disappointment, when he gazed at him at the station. They had been standing away from Mr. Kingsman who was sorting out his release with the female officer in charge of lockup. He could feel those sea green eyes bore into him, while Thorn turned to him quietly, all the venom abandoned in his tone.

" Murtagh, what happened?"

It had been a simple question, but one Murtagh was unable to answer. How did one answer that anyway? Even he despite knowing some facts, he did not know exactly _what _had happened...well not what had happened in the Interrogation Room - _definitely not that._ Ok, maybe he could've answered him - because he _did_ know what Thorn wanted to hear. _'I fucked up, I'm doing it again, I got jacked by an officer in the parking lot - he pulled some pills off me..'_ That was pretty damn easy to say. Except it wasn't, and instead of an answer, Murtagh found himself turned away from his friend to gaze at the surprisingly crisp image that radiated from the television screen not far from them.

**"_Almost two hours ago, Police received a frantic 911 emergency call from this very same spot...from this very same police car..."_ **Murtagh half listened to the report, ignoring the penetrating gaze of Thorn beside him as Galbatorix turned to them and waved him over. He eagerly went over to him, quick to escape Thorn's accusatory eyes.

"Officer Harris here will sort out the paper work, but right now Murtagh, you're free to go. I'll contact you if anything further develops." Murtagh nodded at Galbatorix, utterly grateful. He weakly shook his hand, taking in the mysterious black eyes of his as they gazed into his own. The older man then leaned in closer, patting his shoulder for a moment, before that cheshire cat smile crawled up his face.

"They'll be an interesting read..." he said vaguely and Murtagh turned to the curious expression of Thorn who had been standing in earshot distance. Thorn looked confused, but Murtagh knew exactly what he had been talking about, his hand reached subconsciously to slither across the zipped up jacket of his, and he felt the padding of the documents that he had hidden inside it.

**_"Office Dennis Bjartskular of the Varden police has been rushed to hospital, reportedly in stable condition, while..."_ **The voice of the reporter cut through the room as Murtagh slowly tittered over back to Thorn who still had that expectant look on his face, as if he wished clarification for both what he had asked him before and what had transpired between he and his lawyer a while ago. Murtagh turned to him then, murmuring hastily.

"I'll explain later. I just..._I just want to go home now_.." Thorn nodded in understanding, slightly sated at the request. That's all he wanted to do as well, never before had the prospect of being alone in his house up by the lake seemed more inviting. He was exhausted; all that panic and tension, all that intense anger and bravado at the officer had left him zapped of energy and he felt as if he could sleep years away. The two nodded towards Galbatorix who merely stared back at them and then headed towards the door wide open before them. The voice of the reporter wafted through the lazy lull of the police station as they neared the doorway.

**_"It is reported also that Varden High School Principal _**Brom Holcombsson**_ was also a victim in the crash. He was traveling in the airport cab which hit Officer Bjartskular off the road. He has also been rushed to the Hospital, along with a currently unidentified young woman, and the severely injured taxi driver who was reportedly impaled by a sheet of glass after being thrown through the windshield. The condition of these three is unknown at present.."_**

Murtagh froze then in the doorway, and so did Thorn. His face seemed to contort in slow motion into a look of pure horror, as Thorn turned quickly around towards the television. The best friend saw the mangled taxi car, its crushed hood streaked with blood - His eyes were sea green saucers.

Murtagh didn't, couldn't turn around, his feet were melted into the floor, and the horror that latched unto his face was irremovable. Thorn had dragged him out then, down the stairs and down into the parking lot where his dad's old truck had been parked. He had shoved Murtagh into the truck, got in himself, and the sped off down the road like his ass had been on fire, leaving a thick plume of dust behind them.

Murtagh blinked from the recent memory as Thorn skidded unto the I 95 whose long thicket of framing trees hid the shining moon. The road was drenched in pitch darkness, the headlights a weak guide, and all Murtagh could think about then was_ Brom._..Nasuada..Brom,_ Nasuada._..dear god..what if they were hurt? His hands reached to his face, eyes closing for a moment as his brother stared at him hollowly beside him. Frustration was hot in his stomach - _what if one of them died...?_

"Mur-murtagh..." Eragon's hollow voice came out cracked and barely audible, yet it snatched Murtagh up. The older brother looked over towards the younger with the same fear clinging to his face.

Eragon looked lost, his eyes were sad and distant as he leaned towards him like a child would his parent. "Is everything ok now? Is it over?..." He was talking about the arrest - he didn't know about the crash, he hadn't heard the report...and they hadn't told him.

Murtagh's face fell then. It had been the first time Eragon had spoken since the incident, if Thorn had told him right. He wanted so very much to say 'yes' to him then. He grabbed his brother by the shoulder and Eragon leaned into the embrace. His brother was hidden in the warm crook of his arm, and looking in the rear view mirror, Thorn's heart clenched as he saw tears slipping down Murtagh's cheeks as he stared bravely ahead for a moment. His friend then kissed his brother's forehead, murmuring quietly 'Everything will be fine. You'll see...everything will be fine..."

Thorn then turned his attention to the road then, feeling that same sad panic in his bones. Seeing Murtagh cry - it unnerved him like nothing else. He tried not to think about it, tried not to think about Brom or even Nasuada hurt -

He tried-

He was failing.

Murtagh sat in the back with his brother in his arms. His gaze was fixed towards the front where Thorn sat. Eragon had fallen asleep in the embrace. He did not want to speak of what happened before...he never wanted to speak about that. In fact, he didn't really want to say much at all - but the fear in his gut was too great, and the tears were hot on his cheek, hot and numerous - he thought of finding them in autopsy...He bit his tongue from openly sobbing at the thought.

"Thorn..." his voice was desperate as he called to his loyal friend in the front. Thorn looked up in the rear view mirror meeting Murtagh's sad, frightened gaze. "What if..." he paused, shaking his head. "What if there de-"

"Don't.." Thorn stopped him. His voice hard. "Don't say that, don't think about it. They're not. They're not Murtagh."

Thorn cloaked the doubt that held him too, and staring into the sea green eyes of his reflected in the mirror, Murtagh nodded convinced, and turned back to his brother nestled under his arm. Thorn turned back the road, and to the silence that had encompassed the drive before. He didn't know if they were dead or not, the reporter had said their condition was unknown...he didn't know and yet he knew what Murtagh had done. He had known the moment he saw that look on his face. There was a distinct sadness that drenched him, _and somehow he knew that all there lives were going to hell now._

"Thorn?" the friend glanced up to see Murtagh's stare reflected in the mirror again from the backseat. The distinct rumble of the old engine sputtered through the silent pause between them. Thorn murmured a questioning. "Yea?"

Murtagh gazed intently at Thorn's reflection in the mirror for a moment before murmuring with pained and thorough sincerity. "I'm sorry..."

Thorn turned back towards the road, unable to control the sad disappointment that tied his stomach in knots. "I know."

-X-

The hospital had been strangely empty and he guessed that the news reporters hadn't gotten there as yet. Sure enough, a car crash was big news in Varden. Hardly anything of note happened in the fairly small town...well it wasn't really that small - it was in between he guessed. Well, the only thing of note had been several years ago...and it had involved Murtagh as well. _"Insane Heir Charged for Murder, Maims Five Year Old Son."_ - that headline would haunt the town forever.

As the engine died, Thorn whisked out of the truck as quick as lightening, but not as quick as Murtagh and Eragon who had seemingly begun recovering from the nap he had gotten in the backseat. He looked rested and refreshed - not so hollow as he did before - he had begun to look like his old self again. Despite everything, as they walked over from the parking lot towards the main entrance to the hospital, Thorn could not help but smile at him.

Murtagh however looked the complete opposite. He was completely drained, his face haggard, his eyes sunken and tinted red with tire. And yet there was a distinct fear in his face. It seeped in through his skin and into his blood, keeping him on the complete edge, keeping him awake and alert. Thorn supposed that was what kept him awake as well as they pushed through the door and unto the ground floor of the hospital. They were greeted by a set of blaring lights overhead, and Thorn saw Eragon flinch, covering his eyes. Murtagh seemed unphased and quickly hurried over to the counter in the foyer where a couple of doctors hung about, chattering.

The eerie sounds of the faint whirring of different hospital equipment punctuated the air, and Thorn felt himself even more uncomfortable as he hurried up to accompany Murtagh who had already begun talking to the doctors.

"The accident on the freeway. My fa- " he paused for a second, distinctly aware that he had almost called Brom his father; he was made quite aware that afternoon that, that was _not_ the case.

For a moment he remembered Galbatorix's words. "It was your _father_ you called me..." Brom was his _step_father..not his _father..._The notion was tight in him.

"My Stepfather...and my sister...they were in the crash." Murtagh saw Thorn's eyes widen at his reference to Nasuada as his sister. He barely glanced at him. The young female doctor who Murtagh had pounced upon, seemed on fire. She nodded at him quickly, understanding his urgency then hurried off towards the elevator in the adjoining hall, motioning for them to accompany her. The other two doctors merely stared at them as she hurried off.

"Follow me." The three sprinted towards the elevator.

The ride couldn't be fast enough, and Thorn saw the thorough anxiety that had Murtagh antsy as he stood in the back of the elevator. The doctor had gone on in proceeding to tell them, that the two had been admitted a few hours before, and while she did not know of their exact condition - as she had been assigned to attend the police officer - She did know however that they were on the third floor in the west wing of the hospital. Only Thorn nodded at her, while Murtagh stood in silent chaos in the back, Eragon who had begun to comprehend the gravity of the situation had begun to get upset.

The elevator sounded with a ding followed by a female automated voice that rang out "You have reached the third floor"

The doors of the elevator opened and if was a wonder that any of them heard the doctor as she bawled out the directions to them. "Take the second hall on your right, then go straight down, and you'll see a fork, take the left turn and you'll be in the West Wing. They'll be several nurses on duty there, you can ask-"

They had been too far away to hear the rest of her sentence. Thorn ran after Murtagh who somehow found energy in his tired body to sprint madly down the hall. Eragon ran beside him, seemingly frightened by Murtagh's behaviour.

"Jesus - Murtagh! Wait up!" Thorn heard his younger brother shout at his friend as they reached the fork the doctor had told them about. Murtagh ignored the plea and dipped left into the West Wing and out of sight.

It took them a few seconds to catch up to Murtagh who they soon saw, leaning heavilly against one of the hospital coolers, Cold water sprayed in his mouth while he practically gasped for breath. Thorn looked at him in concern - noting the way that was how he looked after he had an 'episode'. The thought troubled him for a moment, and he half wondered if that had been the cause of what had happened earlier. He swept the thought under the carpet however as Murtagh straightened, seeing them slowing towards him.

Thorn took a second to catch his breath as did Eragon before attempting to speak.

"So where do we-" thorn's question was cut off by Murtagh suddenly shushing him, with a raised hand. Thorn's eyes narrowed at the rude objection before complying. Murtagh cocked his ear, to some inaudible sound then turned to Thorn and Eragon in hopeful surprise.

"Do you hear that?"

Eragon looked confused. "Hear what?"

"Listen...Over here.." Murtagh bounded further into the hall of the west wing and round the corner where a nurses station was set. To the left of it was a hall where several hospital beds and examination rooms were situated. As they rounded the corner they could hear it now - the muffled protest of a female voice.

They neared a light blue door that had been left half opened. Thorn stood behind Murtagh and Eragon beside him. Through the door the distinct husky female voice was pinched in defiance.

"I'm not -" a swatting sound. "I said no, I want to know what's going on with Eric first. I wan't to know if hes out of surgery." Murtagh pushed open the door as the voice rang out, weak, yet angry. An older male voice was deadly insistent.

"Ma'am, we need to set your fingers...and that gash needs stitches..."

Murtagh pushed to door open to see two figures in the room - one sitting and one standing. An older male nurse was standing before the defiant unmistakeable figure of the girl that he had called his sister. She looked beaten down and ragged as she sat hunched over on the edge of the hospital bed. Her clothes had been exchanged for a hospital gown, her hand hooked up to an I.V. and there was a fairly large gash at her hairline above her left eye. She was clutching an injured hand away from the nurse, and she looked different in the casting florescent light overhead, but there was no mistaking that it was her. It was-

"Nasuada..."

-X-

She turned to her name then in confusion before eyes met the figure in the doorway. Nasuada stood immediately, ignoring the nurses protests for the while as she saw Murtagh smiling weakly at her from the door. Her eyes were locked with his for an frozen second, and it took her a moment to notice the familiar figures of Eragon and Thorn behind him. Her face crumpled then, as she saw Eragon shove past Thorn, and into the room. He gently pushed aside his brother and stared incredulously at her for a moment, his blond hair looking even lighter in the white light over head. Nasuada felt herself shudder as he embraced her suddenly, clutching to her with such intensity that it hurt her. She hugged him back weakly, burying her face against his neck, inhaling the familiar scent on his collar. He smelled of a place she now called home...a place she now realized _was _her home. He smelled of the Manor, and all the stability she had left behind when she had left. She felt the numbness shift, felt the pain in her chest swell, she bit into her lip as he belatedly pulled away. Eragon did not see the tears swimming in her eyes.

"Nas I'm so happy that you're...where's dad...?" the question came suddenly as if he just remembered his father having been entrenched in the relief that he now knew that she was o.k. Nasuada smiled weakly back at him, tear filled eyes thoughtful for a moment.

"Your father's down the hall on the right, he's-" the Nurse turned in surprise as Eragon suddenly bounded out the door, not waiting 'til he finished. Only Murtagh and Thorn stood with her then, and the nurse stared at them for bit, evidently uncomfortable at their sudden intrusion. Murtagh ignored him, standing beside Nasuada, while Thorn wafted at the doorway like some sort of protector.

Nasuada stared at him for a second, before murmuring his name.

"Murtagh..." her tone was soft, questioning almost. He only stared at her, emotion in his gaze. His lips pursed, and he knew that there was that painful _'__thing'_ between them...even now it was there. He sighed, hesitant for moment, before he reached forward and grasped her good hand with his. She stared down at their intertwined fingers - the contrast of black and white, and swallowed harshly, her eyes crinkling even further. She didn't want to cry -

She hadn't cried all night...

She wouldn't do it now. Murtagh sat beside her , grasping her hand tighter. The emotion was plain in his face, for once there was nothing hidden there, and Nasuada felt herself break then as he leaned to her whispering.

"I missed you..."

A hot tear ripped heavily down her cheek then, and she turned away from him to stare at the floor, her hand still entwined with his. She was trying to control herself...She was failing. Everything, that night...the blood on her hands, his dying gasps, that blaring machine filled her - _She just wanted to go home_. She just wanted to go home and pretend that nothing had happened, that she had never left for New York - that they had never crashed. She turned to Murtagh leaning her head against his shoulder, another tear sliding down her cheek. Her face crinkled, as his hand reached round her to pull her closer into his arms. She gasped then, choking back a sob as his arms wrapped fully around her in warm embrace. His face brushed against hers, and she shivered at the warm contact.

His touch was gentler than Eragon's, filled with similar intensity, but with different meaning. He leaned his head against hers, his eyes closed as the nurse and Thorn stared at the two silently. Nasuada felt her chest, her stomach tight, her body was rigid, clenched even though he held her - She didn't want to cry...she shou-...she Couldn't cry. She clamped her eyes shut, forcing back the tears, forcing all the fear and grief that threatened to overwhelm her. Murtagh's hand brushed against her arm, and she shivered as she felt his warm mouth move to her ear.

"Sometimes..." he whispered to her, so no one else would hear. His breath was hot on her ear. "...it's o.k. to cry..."

He felt her clench then, felt her spirit break, felt the sadness, fright, fear from her gush forward as she erupted into a series of muffled sobs and crumpled fully into his arms. He held her tightly, tears on his cheek as well as her head buried in the crook of his neck. He felt his chest tighten, all the emotion dripping down on him, the fright, the relief, the pain in his back, the accusing disappointment in Thorn's eyes, the silent despair of Eragon, the knowing black eyes of Galbatorix, the betrayal of Elva, the words all terrifying him and that voice that gripped him - "_Murtagh, where are you? _**_Murtagh?!_**'

Nasuada was his sister...she was his- Murtagh wasn't sure, he knew he couldn't explain what he felt then in words. The emotion that gripped him then was like a sizzling nerve that ran up to the souls of his feet and straight to his brain. And he was certain, as he held her tightly in his arms, feeling her body rattle quietly against him as she cried, what he felt for her was more than what his brother felt...more than he himself had ever felt for anyone before. He loved her how he loved his brother... how he loved Thorn...but it was..._different_ somehow. And yet he knew despite everything, despite their difference in blood, and that although she might not have really been his sister, she was his _family_. They were family, and thought of losing her...of losing Brom, had scared him more than a million Officer Lorans ever could.

He opened his eyes, finding himself murmuring to her...to himself what he had to Eragon while they were seated in the speeding back of the truck. "Everything will be fine...You'll see...everything will be fine..." He felt her pull away then, felt her arms slide gently from his embrace as she sat up from the bed. Her eyes were puffy, red. Her cheeks were tear stained and her thick lips were pulled in a sad smile. The gash in her forehead was caked in dry blood, and the bags under her eyes were as prominent as her soft definition of her cheek bones. Murtagh saw the same battered old look in her raw umber eyes and knew that his eyes were the same. And he knew then, that she saw through him, just as bare as he saw her.

He didn't flinch then as her soft voice bit into him. It was the truth...it was simply the truth, and all he could do was smile weakly back at her, squeezing her hand tightly in his, as she murmured to him quietly, and rather pointedly.

"Your lying..."

Murtagh, smiled sadly back, eyes fluttering to Thorn for a moment, before glancing back at her again, at their knotted fingers. His voice was as soft as hers.

" I know. . ."

* * *

*spreads hands to the sky* Tadah! Another chapter of HAIP for you guys.

Really hoped you enjoyed it. I especially liked exploring the reactions of all the characters under duress, particularly the change in Thorn's character when feeling that his friend was threatened. I also loved portraying the theme of Family in this chapter; made me all mushy on the inside.

I know the situation with Galbatorix with Murtagh may have seemed short lived, but I think we all know Galby now don't we. . .and we also know that he's not just going to disappear without popping up elsewhere again. lol

Just want to thank all those who continue to support this story. You guys and girls have helped me grow so much as a writer, and I really appreciate that you haven't given up on me. Thank you, so much from the bottom of my heart. I hope you stay tuned for more of this story!

Love you all,

S.B.

(Hint: Next chapter will probably be turkey filled and also family oriented - anybody say - gobble gobble?)


	17. Chapter 17: Anybody Say, Gobble Gobble?

Thanks for those who reviewed the last chapter! I'm sorry I took so long with this update...I'm in my sixth week of University and it is consuming ALL of my time. *sigh* It's a wonder I managed to write anything.

To FalconFate - Yes I am continuing with story - and will do so until its finished. Don't be fooled by my sporadic updates, which I still profusely apologize for.

After a bit of deliberation I've decided to change the rating of this story to T. I realize that many of my previous readers had not reviewed for a while and it got me thinking when I realized it was about the time when I switched the story to 'M'. This is a bit of a trial run, to see if responses change in anyway - I will return the story to 'M' rated if I receive any viable complaints, but otherwise from that I think I'll just warn anyone if the chapter's will be M - rated in the future (as in sexually, or violence wise).

This Chapter's language is **M - as it probably will always be. **

For those who got my hint that this is a Thanksgiving Chapter, Kudos to you! So yes guys this Chap is about Thanksgiving **(well at least the preparations)** and yes such _little_ time has passed - (The story started in September at the beginning of the school year and It's only November)...that's why I keep hinting towards the coming of winter. (yes i know...17 Chapters and its only November? I move slowly...shoot me...). I realized after that I missed out Halloween, so I might...note _might _be writing a oneshot for that. If I do, I'll be sure to make you aware of that.

The Thanksgiving Dinner will be covered in 2-3 chaps…haven't decided as yet.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

Anybody Say, _Gobble Gobble_?

It was bloody Thanksgiving Day and what the fuck was there to be thankful for. Brom found himself in a thoroughly pissed mood as he hung the phone up from the receiver and stepped into the kitchen to vent. His three gremlins were there, seated at the counter. The early morning sun streamed annoyingly into the kitchen while an icy autumn breeze shot through the open windows.

"They're coming..." Brom pronounced the death sentence on them all. Eragon was the only one who jumped at the news. His face was suddenly captured in pure excitement with a juicy grin to match it as he shot out of his seat. And Brom could almost swear that he saw him click his heels like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz before racing out of the kitchen towards the dining room to prepare. His voice was filled with childish excitement, crowing "They're coming! They're coming!" as he gradually disappeared further into the Manor.

Brom stared after him, sighing in slight annoyance to himself, while the other two teenagers looked up at him from their seats by the kitchen counter. Turning towards them, Brom noted that Murtagh's face held the same annoyed apprehension that had enveloped him as well; while Nasuada... well, she was silent, and her eyes confused. She seemed distanced from it all. She had been that way for three days now, from the accident or rather from the day _before_ the accident.

Her bandage was off, and the not too gruesome wound below her hairline stared back in a thin line of neat stitches that would be removed the coming week. Her broken fingers had been bound in a cast and she wore them constantly in a glove, seemingly unable to look at them – not willing to remind herself of that night...or of the previous one that neither of them had spoken about.

He could not blame her, he wanted to forget it too. He wanted to forget his bound arm that hurt despite the pain meds, the painful swelling around his broken ribs and the bandaged foot that was healing rather slowly. He wanted to forget that pure devastation that had clung to Nasuada's face when he had told her the next day that Eric had died...how the surgeons just couldn't stop the bleeding.

He wanted to forget his dying gasps...the blood...wanted to forget that solid blare of the Heart rate monitor tearing through the silence in his head. And most of all...he wanted to forget about that trip to New York.

"How long do we have 'til they get here...?" it was Murtagh's deep baritone that interrupted his thought for the moment, and he turned his gaze from Nasuada towards his stepson who was now standing beside her.

Brom sighed, tired from just thinking about entertaining people today. He leaned over the counter, eyes still fixed on the standing teenager. His eyes narrowed slightly at his figure...there was a _thing_ between them. Murtagh knew it, he knew it. This thing was old and new all at the same time. He felt it in his chest like a stale wound constantly bandaged but always festering.

"They said their flight's been delayed for another three hours so they should reach Varden airport in the early evening..." his voice lowered, as the fingers on his right hand tapped thoughtfully against the granite table. He did not look at Murtagh then.

"..right before Thanksgiving dinner..."

Murtagh cocked an eyebrow at him as Brom straightened himself then looked at his useless arm in the sling. "How the hell am I supposed to cook with this...?" He murmured to himself, pointing to the arm, which happened to be his dominant. He then rolled his eyes at the situation.

"Can you cancel..?" Murtagh asked quietly, hand sliding across the counter. His gaze was cautious - he had been utterly cautious since that night. There had been nothing said between them. Brom knew that Murtagh knew that, he was aware that he'd been arrested...he was aware _what _he had been arrested for, and he was more than aware which lawyer had magically showed up to help him. The thing was _he didn't know why_. It was three days since the hell they'd endured, and yet the two had not spoken of it. He had never asked Murtagh any questions and his stepson never offered any information. Life went on as if the incident had never happened...and yet it had. And so, Murtagh stepped on egg shells around him, and he, well...he trampled those eggshells with his pissy mood.

"I think you know the answer to that one." Brom's eyes glowered to the large stainless steel oven that happened to be in view. His tone was seared. He saw Murtagh retract, a look of discomfort shadowed on his face.

"They only come once a year..." Brom continued his voice monotonous. "and they've already bought their tickets and made arrangements."

"Plus, Eragon would be devastated, you know how much he looks forward to this..." The statement was all aimed at Murtagh who merely blinked at him. He was quite aware of Brom's soft spot for his younger brother - something that had always evaded his interactions with him.

"Plus...a little distraction could be of some use..." Murtagh saw when Brom glanced at Nasuada then, who had her gaze fixed on the granite counter where her gloved hand rested lazily. The older brother sat beside her sighing for a bit, before daring to glance up at his stepfather again.

"Then, we'll have to do without a turkey then..." he suggested painfully. His eyes saw the disappointment in Brom's. "because you're the only one that knows how to cook i-"

"I'll cook it."

Both men turned as a female voice intruded. For the first time during the conversation, Nasuada stirred with some signs of life, rising from her seat on the kitchen stool. She stood, glancing at both men for a moment as they stared at her with obvious doubt.

"I always cooked it with my -" She swallowed on that. Her voice weakened as she paused. She then looked stonily at Brom. "I can cook it." she murmured more confidently. Half glancing at Murtagh, she then slithered past the Principal towards the doorway.

"- But I'll need supplies." The quip in her tone was oddly quiet, as her whole demeanor had been since finding out about the driver's death. Brom glanced expectantly at Murtagh, motioning to his useless arm. Murtagh shook his head smiling sourly for a bit, before getting up. He'd always hated Thanksgiving, for very, _very _good reason. He glared at Brom lightly, noting quiet anger and what he could almost recognize as guilt in his sharp brown eyes before he joined Nasuada by the doorway. He turned to her, noting the paled hapless look in her gaze.

"Supplies it is..."

-X-

"Ah, fuck! Ah- fucking, fucketty, _Fuck!" _the obscenities were accompanied by a plume of thick black smoke. She found herself choking as she doused a pan of water on the now smoldering oven, before flinging it roughly to the floor. It resounded with a loud, angry clang. She stood in the wet, scorched mess, still coughing, fanning the smoke from her face. Her hand accidentally brushed against her bandaged nose and another fleet of obscenities flew from her lips.

"Son offa bitch!" She cringed as the pain grabbed her whole face before gradually subsiding to a tolerable throbbing. She held on to the wooden counter, clearing her smoke clogged throat for a moment before daring to look around at the horrible mess.

Saphira slumped as the smoke cleared revealing the devastatingly black oozing creature that was supposed to be a roasted turkey. She slammed the oven shut angrily, then slumped unto the soppy floor wet with black soot water.

Things were ruined. The whole holiday was ruined. She couldn't even be angry about it. All she wanted to do was sit there on the sopping floor, with her now wet butt and _cry_. She found herself sniffling as her feet pressed against the now soot covered glass of the oven door, and she sighed feeling even shittier than before. Why were things like this…_why_? She couldn't understand. Had she been a terrible daughter? Why had this happened to her father? Why was he still in the hospital and not helping her make their special turkey that somehow, despite their horrific cooking skills, still ended up edible? She slammed her foot angrily against the oven door, not caring for the shooting pain that ran up leg as a result.

Why hadn't her mother come?

She remembered the phone call she'd made to her. She remembered dialing the operator several times before the phone had finally picked up, and a very _male _voice had answered the phone with a sharp Florida accent.

"Hello…?_"_

_"Hello"_

Saphira remembered the confusion on her face as she stood in the telephone booth outside the hospital. It had been raining in torrents, and inside the booth was hot and the glass foggy. Her uniform felt musty on her sweat slicked skin; the phone constantly slipped from her ear.

"_Hello? Who is this…?"_

"Sorry, I must have the wrong number…_"_

The male voice interrupted her before she hung up the phone. "_Who are you calling for, Sharon?"_

Saphira froze then. That was her mother's name. That was her mother's name and what the hell was this man doing answering the phone..?

"_Hold on, I'll put you through to her…." _Saphira could hear the distinct sound of sheets shuffling and a groggy voice murmuring in the background. '_What?...Tell them I'm sleeping…Who?'_

She heard the phone being grabbed by another hand, then a familiar shrilling voice echoed across the line.

_"Hello?"_

_"_Mom._" _It was a simple greeting. She was too angry in that moment to say 'Hello' in a cheery manner. The moment was not cheery. It was chaos…Her father was inside, with a breathing tube in his mouth, laying on the hospital bed dosed up on anesthesia, a catheter sticking out from his skull; when here her mother was all the way in nice warm Florida, sleeping her time away with some other man in her bed…

This was a fairly common occurrence. Saphira did not know why she was so angry with her mother then. She knew of her frequent escapades, and boyfriends that she had in the summer. It had been that way since her parents' divorce five years ago. And yet she was angry…so very very angry.

"_Saph! Hun, what are you doing calling so late? It's 4 a.m. in the morning here..! Is everything alright?!" _The mother instinct was on full and Saphira could hear the sleep slip from her voice like lightening. She was fully awake and somehow fully aware that something had gone wrong.

"No..! Everything's not alright!" Her voice was filled with hurt as her breath fogged in the tight space of the booth. Tears were brimming from her dark blue eyes. Her fingers clutched tight to the phone, her navy blue nail polish glinting in the dark. She was angry – because…because…

"_Honey, what's happened?" _her tone was doused with concern over the line, and for a moment Saphira fell silent over the phone. Tears spilled from her eyes. She was angry – because…Because..she was alone. Because she wanted her mother so badly right now…_because she was scared_. What was she supposed to do? _What was she supposed to do?!_

"It's dad…" her voice was hoarse as her tone doused with heavy emotion. "We were in a car accident…He's ..he's…"

There was silence over the line.

"He's unconscious.." There was a simultaneous sigh of relief from the line then, and Saphira wondered for a second if her mother had thought her father had passed. "The doctor's said he suffered from a hematoma…and they just did surgery on him to drain the blood from his brain..."

"_Saphira…Is he o.k.…? Is he…" _the sound of swallowing. "_going to make it…?"_

Saphira froze with the phone in hand. She remembered the doctor telling her that he'd be under observation …if he didn't wake up tomorrow…Well…then that might mean brain damage.

"I don't know." She answered honestly. "Mom, could you come here-"

"_I don't know honey. I would give anything to be there with you right now…" _Saphira could hear the desperation in her mother's voice. She heard the sound of shuffling as if she was moving with the phone. Her mother's started whispering, her voice tinged with inept pain. "_ My credit cards are all maxed out right now…I can barely afford to buy food…And I don't even think your father would even want to see me, not even in these circumstances…" _

Saphira groaned in despair, the phone slipping from her hand to hang from its silver cord. The rest of her mother's chatter went unheard across the line. She started heaving as the tears spilled fully on to her cheeks. A rumble of thunder slew the violent pattering of the rain outside. She slid against the cold glass behind her, slipping down, to sit knees up on the tiny floor of the booth. She stared out into the rain and thunder behind the fog clouded glass panels. Her whole world was going to hell._ What was she supposed to do…?_

What was she supposed to do…now? Here, in this messy kitchen, with this burnt turkey, with the whole holiday gone to hell. What was she to do, when her father was still in the hospital, unable to come home? What was she to do, without her mother around? What was she to do? She sighed, inhaling the charred smell of the charcoal turkey. She hung head for a moment, before her eyes glanced towards the counter…towards the telephone.

-X-

It took Brom a solid moment to realize that the phone was ringing. Between the loud music and Eragon's bountiful crowing - or what the poor boy thought was singing - He could hardly hear himself think. Despite the ear ache and the now growing headache he had, he ignored him, and allowed him his moment to revel in the Thanksgiving spirit - or...whatever the hell had taken him over that morning. He couldn't help but smile at his son as he watched him dig up the old candlesticks and silverware to shine them, and dust off the old centre piece that they used every Thanksgiving. He looked oddly happy in his labour, and Brom felt the better for it that at least_ one_ of them could enjoy some mental peace - even if it was spent in complete ignorance. '_Well, they do say ignorance is bliss...'_

And so it was.

Between the air guitar solo and...some rather _awkward_ bit of dancing, Brom stalked out of the vast dining room, feeling oddly thirsty. His throat was dry. He felt sluggish, weighed down in thought and heavy memories that threatened to shadow the supposedly happy family holiday. Among the _old_ wounds, New York was ever present in his mind...a new addition. His throat felt even drier.

"_Probably dehydrated...yea..that's it...dehydrated." _

He told himself that as quiet footsteps found him in the kitchen. A part of him wondered how Eragon could still be so loud even at such distance. He shook his head as he neared the refrigerator and that was when he heard the telephone ringing.

_'Probably them again..'_

The thought was sour in his mind as he thought of the relatives calling again, and that took Brom aback for a moment. He didn't know why he was behaving like this...or, maybe he did; he just didn't want to admit it. It was the whole events the past few days that had him off balance..._aside from the normal discomfort at this time of year_. Nevertheless, normally, the prospect of family would have had him in similar - though less intense- mood as Eragon, but now, all he wanted to do was to be alone. And he was all the happier that Murtagh had taken Nasuada out to shop for groceries. He heard the unceremonious 'Brrriiiingggg' from the telephone again and a harsh sigh pierced through his tight lips. Gathering himself, he strode over to it before it got the chance to ring again.

_"Hello..?" _He heard the caller's voice at the other end of the line. Brom's face crinkled - it was not who he was expecting.

"How did you get this number..." the greeting was abandoned. There was a solid scowl carved into the lines of Brom's face. It deepened hearing the somewhat mocking laughter at the other end.

"_Assalamu alaikum…to you Brom"_ a dark chuckle. "_Does it even matter 'How' anymore? I've already got it. . ." _

The displeasure on Brom's face was if it had been chiseled into his features. There was a rage in his blood at the quiet satisfaction of the heavy voice at the end of the line.

"_No matter..." _The humour died out of the voice. "_I did not call to speak with you..." _

Brom's tone was granite. "She's not here."

There was a distinct pause, and the tone in Fadawar's voice shifted, edging towards the icy bite that Brom had.

"_I do not care for lies, Brom. I wish to speak with my niece..."_

"Cousin." Brom corrected, his eyes glaring into the shiny receiver. His stomach was twisted in knots of building anger.

"_Whatever..." _The irritation was obvious and it made Brom smile wryly for second. "_I need to speak-"_

" She's not here. And even if she were, you'd be the _last person_ I'd let her talk to...!" Brom snapped into the phone. His eyes were wide wroth circles of brown.

He didn't realize that Eragon's singing had stopped, that the music had stilled to silence.

He didn't realize that he was yelling into the receiver - "Just leave the girl alone damnit! It's been only _four_ days,** Leave her the hell alone**!"

He stopped for a bit, as the words flew untamed from his mouth; for a moment he was taken aback in surprise. Then the familiar anger sprung in his blood again.

"And don't _ever_ fucking call this phone again.." The command was followed by the harsh 'clang' as he slammed the phone into the receiver, huffing. His blood was hot, pumping in his ear and the memory was vivid, horribly vivid, swirling inside his head driving him mad.

.

_The soft beep beep beep echoes on...There is the scraping sound of artificial air.._

_The child is a cocoon of endless ribbons of bandages, all blood soaked..._

_Those eyes..those sharp blue eyes are closed - so innocently closed...The child is asleep, the medication heavy in his blood. He fears that he will sleep forever after this night..._

_His hands are on the glass, brown eyes pressed against them...watching. He is crying...inside the room, the child is dying. _

_His voice is a whisper - "_"D_on't die, Murtagh... I'm so sorry Selena...God, please don't let him die" -_

_._

_It's bloody Thanksgiving Day and what the fuck is there to be thankful for..._

_._

_"D-Dad?" -_ Brom's brow creased - that was not apart of the memory. It took him a moment to realize it was a voice behind him.

"Dad?" He turned around meeting the tall slender figure of his son. The joyful expression in his face had died, leaving him looking dangerously mature. Eragon's eyes were creased in shock and concern. And Brom felt himself shrink a bit. He had never lost his temper - not in front of his son...Not after what had happened that night...with Murtagh...

But Eragon had seen him. He had seen the rage in his eyes, in his shouting, in that rigid posture as he stood seething over the phone - and in the way he had slammed it back to hell. Brom stood speechless before his son for a moment fumbling desperately for an explanation. Eragon stood in the doorway, looking at him as if he had stolen his childhood innocence; his stare was not disbelief it was accusing.

"Dad..." he called for what seemed the thousand time. The word seared in Brom, like a hot fire poker. _It was how Nasuada had called her father that night when-_

"...Who was th-that?" His son, dared to take a step inside the kitchen. Brom found his tongue then.

"No one." the answer was abrupt, and equally vague. "It was no one."

Eragon looked at him in suspicion, and the action made him uncomfortable. Brom did not want to see that joy in his eyes quenched as it had for him...as it had for Murtagh...

...for Thorn..

. . . .as it had for Nasuada -

"But da-"

"It's none of your concern..!" he snapped at him suddenly. Eragon retracted then, swallowing a whimper in his throat. Brom went silent, but the stern look remained. His voice quieted.

"Go..."

"take care of the table..." Brom's murmur was remorseful, dipped in a sudden quiet calm, yet he did not apologize.

Eragon hovered by the doorway, clearly wishing to hide his confused hurt elsewhere. He nodded at his father silently, a wounded expression in his eyes, before slipping out hurriedly. Brom looked after him for a moment, sighing inwardly. He knew he would have a hard time finding Eragon now; he would be hiding his hurt somewhere, a habit born of hereditary relation.

He closed his eyes, feeling the residue of anger at Fadawar waken the most recent memory - New York - he felt his soul heavy in him. So much had happened - so fast...He shook his head, feeling for Nasuada more than anything, and for a moment he found himself there - in New York again -

_He is in another hospital - not Varden Memorial._

_The accident has not happened as yet. And Thorn has not called to tell him of Murtagh's arrest..._

_For a moment his arm is covered in the long sleeve of his white cotton shirt, unharmed; his leg isn't bandaged; his ribs aren't bruised. For a moment he is on the "end of life care" ward in St. Anne's Hospital in New York. For a moment his feet are running,_

_ running hard and  
_

_ his breath is laboured –he is gasping for air – _

_and there is chaos – _

_in his mind, in the hall. _

_- There is a blaring sound, harsh and familiar and he feels his blood run cold even as he tumbles further into the dark-_

Brom opened his eyes. His throat was on fire. The memories inside him were too much threatening to swallow him whole. _And goddamn he was parched!_ He stumbled towards the refrigerator where he had first went before hearing the phone ring those minutes ago. His shaking hand reached up above the metal handle to grasp the cabinet set above it. He took a tumbler out, setting it firmly on the counter. His hands slid inside his shirt, where the necklace was - to the key that hung unassumingly from it - a key he had not touched in over a decade. He yanked it from its perch, eyes flitting to the lock on the cabinet across from him. For a moment he paused as the key slipped inside the lock. He felt the cold of the metal seep into his skin, freezing his blood. And for a moment, he could hear a distinct whisper in the dark of his brain -

"_Once you've started...you never stop...do you really want to go here .._again_?"_

And then the memories -

Murtagh...Nasuada...

_...Morzan..._

_Selena. . ._

The lock clicked, and Brom drew the cupboard open, eyes glazed as he saw the familiar bottles of scotch staring back at him.

-X-

Nasuada certainly knew what she was doing. Murtagh was acutely aware of that now as she walked the isles militantly like a soldier,carefully scanning each item to grab up the specific one that she needed. This had been their fifth trip around the main town - and still she had not found what she had been looking for. - Not to mention that all the other stores - and even the supermarket had run out of turkey. As a last resort - the very, very _last_ resort, Murtagh had decided to come here.

They were in Hal's Groceries, now. Ironically it had been the very same grocery store that he had been arrested outside. Murtagh could tell that the whole affair was big news. He had even managed to make page two of the Local Tribune. He laughed humourlessly as he shook his head, seeing his picture in the paper where he was being manhandled by Officer Loran. The shot was amateur he could tell, probably one of those careless housewives with nothing better to do than gossip and send pictures to local newspapers. Although he smiled it was laced with bitterness. The whole thing made him thoroughly uncomfortable, and vividly self conscious when he realized that almost everyone in the rather filled grocery store, was staring at him. He sighed, head dipping in the paper once more, before he folded it seeing the front page.

_"Taxi man Dies after Collision with Police"_

He felt his chest tighten as his eyes skimmed the headline. The picture on the front was soul ripping. It was the mangled taxi. Its front crushed up like waste paper, the hood smeared with blood...with ..'Eric's blood' - he had heard Nasuada talk of him before at the hospital - she had wanted to see him, but he had been in surgery then, and they had to go home. He felt for her, she seemed excessively torn by his death; even more than Brom who he understood, had been the one attempting to give the man CPR; but then Brom was never a good example when it came to reactions. He was fairly unpredictable and sometimes emotionless...(_and yet he knew his one trigger...that one name that always set him off) _but perhaps there was something else. He wasn't entirely sure, but he was wary of Nasuada's behavior of late, and he had the distinct feeling that something was wrong...something that had _nothing_ to do with the accident.

He put the paper down by the newspaper stand, deciding it would not be a good idea to show her the unflattering picture of him on the second page, no matter how darkly humorous it might have been. He just wanted to make her smile. After the hospital, he had not seen her smile; her lips were always a tight emotionless line and her eyes looked distant and...hopeless. Murtagh glanced away from the intruding stares of the shoppers who tried to pretend that they were observing the items on the shelf instead of him, and he turned his gaze towards his-...well he hadn't sorted out exactly what Nasuada was to him as yet. _She was like his sister...but the way he felt for her...it would have been inappropriate to call her such..people didn't kiss their sisters...or _want_ to kiss them._

His eyes smiled at her figure dressed in a slouchy red cashmere sweater that hung off her bare ebony shoulder and a pair of dark denim shorts. Her hair had been pulled back into a small kinked puff, and he realized then that it had grown since she had cut it about two months ago.

He strode over to her, his eyes frowning as he saw the jarred expression on her face. For a second he wondered what she was staring at as he neared her figure. As he slowed towards her, his shoulders slumped and he sighed heavily as he saw what she was looking at. It was a man. He was standing by the large refrigerator where the sodas and other juicy delights were displayed. In his hands was the Local Tribune, its front page eagle spread proudly at his broad chest. Nasuada was staring at it with such intensity - such dark intensity - _"Taxi man Dies after Collision with Police"_ - He could tell she was reading the headline over and over and _over_ again.

His fingers brushed against her arm. "Nasuada.."

She yelped, almost jumping out of her skin. She looked like someone woken from a nightmare. Her dark eyes were wild and disoriented as they met his blue ones. The concern was plain in his gaze, and seeing it she gathered herself quickly flinging up the quiet facade that she had maintained before. Murtagh retracted his hand from her, staring at her intently.

"Nas- are you o.k.?

She cleared her throat, not looking at the concern in his eyes, then pointed at the array of cans and the like before her as if she had been looking at them all the while. "I can't use these...they're canned. I need fresh ingredients." her tone was hollow as she paused, taking in the cocked eyebrow that Murtagh held at her for a moment. "Is there a farmer's market around here?"

"Yes..." he began, taking in her expression. His eyes were probing, and she escaped them, glancing at the floor. "... but its on the other side of town..."

Nasuada sighed a bit at this. It would take at least half an hour to drive to the other side of Varden; they just didn't have that time. The Bromson relatives would be there soon, and they had to have Thanksgiving dinner prepared by then. She turned to glance at the shelf again. And then, huffing a little, she grabbed up some canned peppers, and tomatoes and stacked them in her otherwise empty basket. Murtagh's narrowed for a bit, before he suddenly reached for her basket and removed them. Nasuada opened her mouth about to protest, as he stacked them back unto the shelves then gave her a long hard stare.

"Murta-"

He held up a hand to shush her like one would a child. Nasuada glared at him, and a familiar smirk tugged at his lips. "You want to go back to the house so quickly, with pissy-footed Brom and Dorothy waiting?" -He saw Nasuada blink at the quip flung at Eragon. She did not laugh...she did not even smile. It made him even more concerned, knowing she would have at least 'smiled at him..._even just a little._..

Nasuada didn't answer. Instead she stared at the floor for a moment, seemingly in contemplation.

Murtagh was keenly aware that they were alone in the isle - well...mostly. In his periphery he could see the curious, and yet all too accusing gazes of the few customers that dared to whistle by. He noted how they never seemed to pick up anything in the isle anyway - only staring after the two of them in what they thought was thorough discretion. He felt an annoyance sting him...and still Nasuada did not answer him. He looked at her, for a moment wondering if she had heard him.

"Nasua-"

"- I remember..." she interrupted him, daring to glance up at him from the floor. The basket stood between them, and Nasuada side stepped it, to stand beside him. Murtagh blinked for a bit as her dark brown eyes met his blue ones. Her voice was hoarse.

"I remember, and you don't, Murtagh." Her hand reached up to rest on his arm. Her gaze was earnest, and for a moment the facade of calm failed and he got a glimpse of the ragged turmoil that raged with her. He shivered at her touch, feeling suddenly cold as her gaze bore into him.

"I don't want - " he saw her swallow, eyes furrowing. " I can't help_ but_ remember, and it's like living in a nightmare..." Her hand slid down his arm to rest at his elbow. Murtagh wanted to hold her, but refrained himself. He knew that look in her face - it was so similar to the one that she had sported when he had shouted at her in the rain. She looked like a woman broken. His heart clenched at the memory of her in that blue cardigan - the look splattered on her face - the rain beating down on her. It was still a thing between them he knew...and he hadn't explained. He wanted to..but...yet he didn't. Explaining meant exposing - and not even Eragon had gotten that far with him.

"How do you do it...forget?" she finished, her hand grabbing unto him unconsciously. Murtagh noted the desperation in her eyes...She wanted, _needed_ an answer from him.

He could not give one.

He rested a palm heavily on her shoulder, his gaze equaling hers. "Nasuada. You don't want to forget." he began, his voice was quiet as a mother and child lingered in the isle near to them. He could tell that she was staring intently at the two of them whispering to each other.

"Forgetting..." he sighed, his eyes were hollow. "It leaves you with a hole...questions of why...always _why_. It leaves you with all the ragged emotion, and depression and grief and a darkness that threatens to swallow you...but without the memory - so you can never truly move on. " his hand slid down her arm, to hold her like she held him.

He bore all his scars for a second, showing her the pain that he hid from everyone else. "Forgetting was never my choice. It was..." he swallowed. "...chosen for me."

Nasuada's eyes creased at him. He looked down at her lips, not wanting to stare into those eyes again. "And even though, I've always wanted to forget. I realize now...that...in the end - it may have only made things worse."

His mind flashed to that Summer - in that place...to that doctor who promised him that everything would .o.k now; And then to the documents - the ones that Mr. Kingsman had given him. The ones that he had locked in his drawer - the ones he had yet to read. Remembering was scary, he knew it...and he had been forgetting for so many years that it was apart of him now. He feared if he truly remembered, all the truths he thought he knew would turn out to be nothing more than lies told to him to cover a darkness so great, he would be swallowed whole.

He did not remember what it was truly like to _remember_...yet he knew that forgetting was worse. Nothing could be worse than waking up in the dark, covered in sweat and fear and drowned in voices that you were unable to recall - with a face burned into your mind...and yet unable to recall exactly _'what'_ had happened - only knowing the end result was a huge scar on your back, on your soul, and a crippling fear for a father you never knew. And that voice ripping into him...those words that haunted him even now.

"_Murtagh, where are you?** Murtagh?!**"_

He closed his eyes , shutting out them all out with a force that had gotten considerably weaker over the past few days...especially on this one. Today was Thanksgiving. It was the anniversary of when his Father had slashed his back open with that old fencing sword... It was the day that had maimed him for life inwardly and out...and yet - although he knew these facts. Although, he knew the horrible emotions he felt as well...He could not remember anything that had happened. And for once...for once as he gazed in the deep dark eyes glazed with obvious grief, Murtagh felt severely troubled at the notion.

Nasuada had not said anything as she listened to the confession of sorts. Her grip had loosened significantly on his arm, and yet she still held on. She blinked, turning her gaze from him to the woman who still lingered close by. She stared at her so intensely, that loosing her nerve, the mother scurried hurriedly away from them both dragging her child along with her. They were alone in the isle now. Nasuada then turned to him again, and Murtagh slumped seeing the facade return to her gaze. She nodded a thanks, then unhanded him to grab her empty basket. Then without a word, she turned to walk away from him towards the end of isle.

He knew as he watched her walk away - that if he did not say something, this would be the beginning of the end for her. He did not want to watch her turn into him, burying everything inside himself 'til he was nothing but a hole. He did not want her push everyone away like he had. . .'til the only person that had dared stay with him in the shadow was Thorn.

And he knew that he had to ask her; because he knew now there was a reason she had said nothing to any of them about that trip that she had taken. And if he did not say something...now...it would eat her alive as his own past had. His voice was a whisper of hesitation and for a second he feared that she would not hear...but she did. And her body froze as his words caught her almost at the end of the isle.

"Nasuada, _What happened in New York...?"_

-X-

_She has almost forgotten how toxic the air is here, in the heart of everything. The taxi driver is a grumpy old man who barely speaks English, and she sits back in the seat taking in the acrid smell of funky scent of old spice cologne mixed with sweat and cigarette smoke. She smiles hesitantly, looking towards her companion who is staring out the window in utter wonder towards the looming sky scrapers nearby. This is her home...She finds herself frowning at the notion knowing it has become a lie. _

_Even though she is here again, even though it has been only two months...it feels like years and she feels somewhat a stranger amid the familiar bustle and the noises, the smoke and the chatter. The taxi screeches to a halt and Brom reaches into his pocket, putting the fare in the driver's outstretched hand as they exit the car. They have hardly set their luggage down when it goes speeding down the busy road, honking madly at the traffic before it. Brom nearly stumbles at the rush, but Nasuada helps him up, grinning at him a bit despite everything. _

_"Hey…Welcome to New York…."_

_. . . _

Nasuada remembered what Brom had murmured next. She remembered every detail as crisp and clear as if it were happening presently. As if she was there, and not here in the Varden, driving for hours on end in the back of Bromson family car along the very freeway that she had crashed on days before.

From the backseat, she glanced up at Murtagh who was driving, and noticed that his gaze was firm set on hers through the rear view mirror. She did not register his probing stare, but his words in the store had grabbed her even deeper into the nightmare that she was trying to claw her way out of…

_"Nasuada, what happened in New York?" _

The words churned through her, eating away at her insides with bitterness.

_. . . 'Everything…' _she whispered now, tears in her eyes. The words were ghosted on her cold crack lips. The air conditioner was blasting cruelly through the vent. Her body was suffering the cold, but her mind – was too far away to truly feel such – it was feeling the cold of another kind. . .

. . .

_"Can't they turn up the temperature in here?" She shivers, clutching to the trench coat that she has worn. "it's freezing…!"_

_Brom smiles ruefully at her request, handing her his jacket as they walk into the blasting cold of the hospital's vast waiting room. The door slams behind them, unheard. The place is beyond slammed. There are practically almost a hundred people in there: children bawling, people jabbering on their respective cell phones, coughing, sneezing, groaning, chewing, burping – and other distasteful sounds. All those noises are blended together in a walled force that topples her as they step further into the rammed lobby._

_They find a lone seat at the farther end of the room by chance. And Brom insists that she sit with the luggage, while he stands, keeping his eye trained on the empty hall beside them, and hoping to god that a stray nurse will walk by that he can pounce on her._

_Snuggling in the warmth of his jacket, Nasuada nods a thank you, wanting to smile back at him, yet somehow she cannot. Despite all the light hearted action between them, the graveness of the situation weighs exceedingly heavily upon her. _

_Somehow the noises make everything all the realer…this is really happening…she is really here in New York…in a hospital…her father is really dying…_

_Her stomach twists in painful knots as the reality slowly poisons her._

_She sees Brom straighten as the familiar 'ding' of the elevator strains through the racket. She watches him silently push past the sea of people, and wade slowly to the other side of the room that empties into adjoining hallway where the elevator is. _

_She knows what he is trying to do…and she knows how futile it will be. No matter if he tries to stop any staff in the hall, they will either ignore him, or tell him rather rudely to go 'Get a number and wait your turn'. None of them ever listen. None of them care… None of them ever stop to give them the time of day – _

_It will be hours before they are even near to get through…and she dreads the wait, and yet apart of her does not want them to get through…_

_Apart of her dreads seeing her father _even more_…dreads staring into once warm eyes now changed; dreads hearing the sickly sound of his voice; seeing the frail skeleton of man that he has become; dreads confronting the final reality of it all. Her chest aches, and her heart aches, and her stomach feels like it has been sliced through with iron. It is anxiety of the worst kind – and all that she wants to do as she sits frozen in the rampant chaos of the waiting room, is to run away. She just wants to run away from it all and never look back…_

_. . ._

Nasuada dipped from the memory, feeling her body jerk as she felt something warm gently shaking her. Groaning rather loudly she reeled, head spinning for a moment before she felt a pair of hands easing her back into the seat.

"Nasuada...its o.k. It's me..."

She knew the voice...even though it was dark and she could barely see, even though her head was spinning with memories and sounds and smells and feelings of the past...she knew that voice. It was a voice that had hurt and as well as comforted her. It was drenched in concern now, accompanied by a pair of hands that were grounded on her shoulders, dragging her from the dark of New York and into the present.

It was Murtagh.

Nasuada slowly relaxed under his touch, daring to ease back into the seat. They were in the back of the car which had been parked…and she had apparently fallen asleep during the drive. It was dark now…_Wait…it was dark? _She looked out the window in confusion…_It was night! _

Her hand reached towards the window, wondering how long she had been out…or worse how long Murtagh had been in the back with her.

"How long was I out for…?" her voice came out cracked and hollow from disuse. She felt Murtagh's weight shift in the seat, felt his hands slowly retract from her shoulder.

"Since the drive...? or since we arrived at the Manor…?" Murtagh's voice was loud against the silence outside. Nasuada turned to meet a pair of ice blue eyes piercing out from the shadows.

She was silent for a moment, watching the deep purple-black shadows that were caste against his chiseled features, the way his eyes shone even brighter in the dark….how sad they looked as they gazed into hers.

"Since we arrived…" She croaked, then cleared her throat. She glanced out the window once more towards the driveway that was now drenched in deep black shadow and very faint silver from the moon overhead.

"About five minutes then…"

Nasuada turned to Murtagh again in confusion. "only five minutes…? we've been driving about from noon , why are we just arriving?" she then jolted in realization. "Jesus! Eragon's cousin! The Turkey! We didn't get anything!"

Murtagh quelled her panic with a simple sentence. "It's ok. I've handled it…"

Nasuada's brow creased in confused suspicion. Murtagh smirked softly at the obvious doubt in her face.

"What, you don't trust me?"

"No…" Nasuada blinked at her sudden response, that familiar feeling of stubborn amusement that rose in her for a moment and the small smile that slipped over her lips. It died quickly, as her gaze caught the somewhat blanched expression on Murtagh's face. She turned to him, despite herself.

"Is everything .o.k...?" her voice was so soft that it was almost inaudible.

Murtagh did not turn to her, his gaze was set in the dark. "I could ask you the same..." Nasuada could not see the expression on his face but his voice was calm, and almost as quiet as hers had been.

"...In fact, I _have_ been asking you that, Nasuada..." She felt herself sigh, that hollow feeling clawing at her stomach at what he said. She could not look at him, and Murtagh had still not turned to her. His gaze was set on the Manor that stood in the shy distance, eternally eerie against the haunting light of the moon.

" I won't force you to tell me..." he said after a long gap of silence had ebbed between them. Nasuada felt his hand brush lightly against hers, stealing the warmth from them. "..But if you ever need anyone..."

His sentence hung in mid air, as Nasuada turned abruptly at the unsaid offer. She froze, breath caught in her throat as her gaze met his unexpectedly. Murtagh's eyes were not warm. They were not cold. They were frozen. They were ..._ice_. She felt herself shiver just looking at them, but no matter how she tried she could not look away. Caught in her own pain, she could sense there was something of the sort frozen in his gaze as well. There was something about this day, that was not right with him.

Well...with them both.

"I'm fine Murtagh..." she lied. She saw his brows frown at her. She drew away from his gaze, her eyes stinging.

She felt his fingers gently slip between hers as he took her hand with his. She felt her heart clench, the tears ripping at her eyes, then suddenly she pulled away. This was too much..._too much_ and a week had not yet passed. _She_...Nasuada shook her head, hands clenched as the bitter feeling rose like bile in her throat. _She just couldn't-_

"I'm sorry..." Nasuada turned to Murtagh in confusion as he spoke again, but his eyes were fixed outside - on the Manor again. His voice was quiet and steeped in regret.

"I'm sorry about what I said to you in the storm...I'm sorry that I hurt you.." Nasuada's eyes widened at the apology. She remembered that day...remembered his words that somehow managed to sting her even now.

"_"It's my f*d up life and you're only making it worse." - _Yea that one had stung pretty bad...but it was what he had said after that had really dug into her, hurting her even more than she had anticipated.

"_ You don't really know me - and I don't want you to..." _

It hurt...because she knew then that it had been the truth. Despite everything - she did not really know him. Murtagh was an enigma - a riddle that confused her, consumed her...a riddle she cared about, but never could seem to truly understand...a riddle that had pushed her away when she needed it...

She had been silent for so long, that Murtagh had turned to her finally to garner the expression hidden in her shadow hidden brown eyes.

Nasuada's face was indecipherable, her eyes frozen with his. She appeared as if consumed by thoughts, and Murtagh sat silently, timid to dare interrupt them.

"It doesn't matter..." her voice was oddly powerful when she spoke at last. The silence of the outside was quelled by the soft squeak of the heavy oak doors out front opening. The blaring light from inside the Manor called like a beacon - as a tall silhouette stood in the doorway, staring out towards them.

Nasuada's tone was thoughtful. Her eyes drifting from his to settle out the window. Murtagh got the distinct feeling that she was not speaking to him, yet he was not sure. There was a heavy sadness in her tone - regret in her eyes.

"We can't change anything in the past...no matter how hard we wish it. What's done is done...being sorry changes _nothing_." The words were dripping with resignation and a harshness that bruised him as they came dryly from her lips. There was bitterness in her tone and for a moment Murtagh retracted - sorry that he had even said anything. He could see the figure standing in the doorway, evidently impatient - _They had guests...they'd better go inside..._

Murtagh slipped out the car without a word - feeling thoroughly stupid - as Nasuada got out the car beside him. He walked behind her, heading towards the shining doorway ahead and it was then that he heard it. It was a whisper, but it was said with such resigned hopelessness that Murtagh froze - watching her slouched figure drift slowly towards the stern figure of Brom in the doorway.

"_I ...can't change anything..."_

The night air was like the cold whisper of death. He felt himself shiver as her words sunk into him - as her figure drifted into the light and disappeared inside the Manor. And he knew then that _she had not been talking to him at all._ . . .He knew somehow that it was New York...It was what she was not telling him - what was eating away at her - what he _could not _fix.

Murtagh paused as he neared the doorway, catching the glazed look in Brom's eyes as they met his. The light was blaring out behind his stepfather and deep within the Manor he could hear familiar voices chattering away into excited oblivion. The cousins had arrived...evidently.

Murtagh felt the familiar discomfort and bitterness lodge into his stomach not anticipating the family dinner that waited ahead. . . Things this year somehow seemed even more worse than usual. He clenched himself, eyes never leaving Brom's. The car keys jingled softly in his grasp. And he had half a mind to just turn back and drive away - away from everything. That was always what he had done anyway - he went away - when things like this happened.

His eyes were hesitant as they stared past his stepfather and towards the light in the brightly lit foyer - he could see the half figure of Eragon and two others standing beside him - a young man that looked like a more rugged version of brother with a wide smile spread across his face and beside him a young woman with copper hair spilling out from under her knitted hat.

Murtagh felt the bile in his gut rising - And he remembered those papers - the ones that Galbatorix had given him - locked away in his drawer. It had all began on this night - some twelve years ago. . .Some twelve years ago had birthed this bond between them all - he and Brom...and even Eragon. They were a family - and yet - they were not. A wave of bitter emotion passed through him as he stood glowing from the light in the doorway, the shadows behind him diffusing into evanescence. This dinner was tradition...that's all it really was. And the fact was as clear and crisp as a ringing bell in his brain.

Brom was his _stepfather - _not his father. His real father was and would always be... _Morzan._

_- Sure enough, Eragon looked like their mother and Brom and this cousin of theirs, resembled them too...but _he_...he had his _father's_ face. He would never be one of them..._No matter how he wished it. . .

- _"I can't change anything..." - _Nasuada's words echoed in his mind.

The smile was crooked as it reached his face, and stretched across his pink tinted lips. Brom looked confused at the expression and even more confused as Murtagh finally and rather calmly stepped through the doorway and turned to him.

"Happy Thanksgiving..."

* * *

Thanks again for all those who reviewed and will review this chapter as well.

This is one of the few times where I literally am unsure of what to say right now.

As we can all see things are hovering in the aftermath of the accident, and something unsaid between them all about Brom and Nasuada's trip to New York. Emotions at this point are a bit shaded - well except for Brom's outburst on Fadawar lol.

As I said, this chapter is the precursor to the Thanksgiving Dinner which is the next chapter.

This Thanksgiving is a rough time for pretty much all our characters - with the exception of Eragon - who up until this point is still oblivious as to the history of the day. We shall see what happens next *rubs hands together*.

I'm off to go start writing the next chapter now, before college eats me alive.

- S.B.

Here's a very brief glimpse into the next chapter that I've just started writing:

.

"...Hey...there cuz..." the greeting was dead, and Murtagh didn't even bother responding to him. He turned and glanced at Thorn who looked at him pointedly from across the table. The look was enough...

_'behave yourself...' _It said. Murtagh didn't think that would be possible tonight. . ."

.


	18. Chapter 18: Before the Dinner Bell Rings

*tap dances into AN* Hey there guys! I decided If I should wait until thanksgiving to publish this, and I was like...'nah! That'd be too mean' and I hate waiting to post things after I've written them, so I decided to put this up as soon as I finished it. They say patience is a virtue, and I have none at all. Lol. NOTE: THIS CHAPTER IS SHORT...and its mainly in Saphira and Thorn's POV on what's happening; think of it as a **precursor to the next chapter** - which is the actual dinner.

Hope everyone is doing awesomely. College finals are creeping up upon me presently, and I haven't even finished with some of my mid semester exams. -sigh-

Everything's been o.k apart from that however and Glad for the reviews on the last chapter. Because of a complaint, I won't be switching this story to T after all and it will remain M rated.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

Before the Dinner Bell Rings

. . .

_She can't breathe._

_The dress is too tight; the air too thick. _

_The faint odour of sulphur and smoke threatens to choke her as the tiny flame licks the match. The light glows in her eyes but the dark in her orbs seem to consume it for a moment._

_The print is steady in her hand, its edge against the growing flame. Wide umber eyes are sad as their sepia toned faces burn slowly in her hand. _

_The word is a whisper in her brain, and steals unto her now red stained lips..._

_"Goodbye..."_

-X-

_"Hey, you want to get out of here...?"_

It had been that question that had landed her here. For a moment ...a solid...long assed moment...Saphira found herself drowning in a cauldron of emotion – mainly shock, confusion and regret. Her dark blue eyes were staring incredulously and her mouth seemed sewn shut, unable to produce sound. She saw Thorn looking at her strangely as he stood beside her but she found herself unable to respond, knowing that if she opened her mouth, utter babble would pour forth. She turned to the red haired boy beside her. Her eyes narrowed angrily.

_This was his fault, damn it! Why ...why did she listen to him? _Saphira slumped inwardly standing awkwardly in the huge doorway as the Thorn pressed the buzzer again. She could hear the tip tap of footsteps coming hurriedly to answer the door, and a dread filled her.

_She shouldn't be here...She should be at home, celebrating the holidays with her family...she should be cutting the barely edible turkey with her dad, watching the Varden Night Parade on tv, stuffing their faces with garnishing and pumpkin pie; she should be-_

Saphira cringed as she heard the door latch opening from the inside. Beside her, Thorn, held a huge grocery bag in hand, smiling at her encouragingly. _She should be-_

"Why Hello there Saphira! I didn't know that Thorn was bringing you over!" the chirpiness splattered across her, jarring her for a moment. For the first time Saphira found herself not enamoured with Eragon's enthusiasm at her presence. She smiled at him shyly as he stood in the doorway towering over her. Her smiled wavered, noting the genuine elation in his gaze, knowing she did not feel the same. _She should be – _

"Yea, thought it would be a good outing, since _...you know...her...dad..._" Thorn's voice trailed off, his tone darkening as it did so. He need not finish his sentence. No one needed reminding of the accident...or of Saphira's dad, still lying comatose in Varden Memorial. Eragon shifted in the doorway, clearly uncomfortable at the reminder. His hazel eyes flashed to Saphira's blue ones for a moment.

_She should be – _

_-at the hospital...staying at her father's bedside...She should be there..not here..._

_...not here..._

Saphira knew that she should not be here. This was..._their _home; _their_ sanctuary; _their_ place for the holidays...She was intruding she was sure. That was why she was uncomfortable...Yes, that was it – That was _only it..._

Saphira stood there, forcing the lies to settle inside herself. She knew deep down, that was not the reason for the bitterness in her belly, the anger in her veins...the sadness that bit in the darkness of her mind. It was anger – at that dead taxi driver...at Brom...at Nasuada...at Eragon even...hell the whole damn family...It was them..._they_ had been in that damned car that had caused this whole mess. They were the cause of it all in a way...

She thought of her father lying limp on the hospital bed...

She remembered the monotonous beep of the machines – the swish of artificial air that they pumped into his lungs. She remembered sitting in a chaotic kitchen, with a black burnt turkey and her bum soaked in soot water...She remembered reaching for the phone...She remembered the deep dead voice of the nurse on the other end – telling her that yet again, her father had made no improvement. Things were just the way they were...fucking dandy...just fucking dandy...The Bromsons would have their Thanksgiving among their family, basking in the near miss of death...and her father would be in the Varden Memorial Hospital fighting for his life...How _fair _was _that?_

Saphira's face must have betrayed something, because for a moment, Eragon stared at her with sudden timidity as if she was bearing fangs at him. She pulled back, wiping the poison from her mind...She did not really believe that. _God damn...this was not their fault...She just...wanted someone to blame...anyone to blame –_ just someone to take some damned responsibility for all this hurt. She couldn't smile at him anymore, not while things were the way they were, but she nodded at Eragon, eyes offering kindness as he invited them inside the Manor.

Thorn strode right inside, as if he were a part of the family...another Bromson, but Saphira hesitated still unsure of herself. Eragon stared at her, fear in his eyes that she would not follow...but Thorn, he stared at her with sharp green eyes filled with such security, she felt the anxiety slowly ease then. Thorn was safe...he made her feel safe in the storm...and even now.

It was his voice that had soothed her when she called him in a panic, crying, having called the hospital before...It was he who had helped rummage through the chaos of the ruined kitchen.. It was he who had come all the way to Carvahall Cresent to see her...to hold her...to drive her all the way to Varden Memorial to see her father. It was he who hadn't wanted her to spend the holiday alone...Who was here now, standing in the doorway with an arm outstretched towards her.

Thorn's eyes were magnetic, ebbing away at the wall of hesitance that had her frozen in the doorway– yet it was his voice that finally pulled her.

"...Saphira...?"

She sighed deeply, closing her eyes for a second – she thought of her father in the hospital...thought of her mother in Florida...thought of the doctor telling her that nothing had changed...how the possibility of her father ever waking up got slimmer as each day passed. Saphira opened her eyes, seeing Thorn's arm still stretched towards her, she grasped it, then stepped through the doorway.

Tonight was going to be a long night. . .

-X-

"Hey where's your brother?"

"Upstairs getting ready...he arrived a few minutes ago. He should be down soo-"

Saphira barely registered the conversation between Thorn and Eragon as they walked further into the foyer. She lagged behind the two, head spinning as her eyes swallowed up the ornate furnishings of the Bromson Manor. She had never seen anything like it...never seen real black marble tiles or such lavish tapestry before. There were silk curtains and brassy metal railings that trailed the stairs on the right and everything looked so polished and expensive that it almost hurt to look at it. The whole place reminded her of something out of a movie. She tugged consciously at her simple green dress, feeling even more certain that she did not belong here.

The lights in the large hallways were set on dim, and it made the aura all the more surreal. There were paintings and lofty mirrors set on opposite sides of the large hall that they had taken. Saphira slowed to gaze at them in wonder, marvelling at the impeccable artistry. Her eyes caught one of the paintings to her right. She froze.

"No way...!" She hurried over to the painting that was perched towards the end of the hallway, with a solid grin on her face. Sure enough, when she neared it she could see the familiar etchings of _ -_ carved gracefully into left corner of the oil painting."_Sharon Bjartskular"- _ She smiled, gazing at the moonlit pond scene that her mother had painted several years ago. Her heart softened a bit, remembering it was one of her favourite pieces as a child; remembering her mother say she had never gotten more money for a painting before in her life. She knew now_ – It was the Bromson's who had bought_ it. Her eyes grew sad as she gazed at the impeccable swishes of deep gray, blue and brown, the shadowed trees in the distance, the soft grey light shimmering along the still pond. Her fingers smoothed against the canvas, her eyes closing.

This was the last painting that her mother had done...before her parents divorced. She tried to wipe the dank feeling from her mind, as memories of that bitter year came back to her. She turned back towards Thorn and Eragon wishing for their comforting chatter – only to find herself alone in the corridor.

"Shit..."

They had gone...they had left her..._they hadn't even realized._ Sure enough, Saphira didn't panic when she found that she had been accidentally abandoned in an unfamiliar house...but she was slightly concerned. She rushed down to the very end of the hallway where a large glass window opened, overlooking the moonlit cobblestone of the driveway below and the field of a lush neat grass and flowers flanking either side. The corridor forked into a room whose door had been bolted shut, and then to an elegant staircase that was drenched in pitch black shadow. The place was still in thick silence and Saphira inched awkwardly up the stairs in the dark, hand gripping madly to the railing – ears straining to hear if Eragon and Thorn had gone that way.

Minutes passed, and the dark was almost comforting, though her fingers did not loosen their iron grip on the brass railings. The polished wood groaned comfortably under her feet accompanying the rhythmic sounds of her breathing as quiet footsteps brought her higher and higher up the staircase. Then there was a squeak. Saphira froze then, almost tripping over herself as the unfamiliar sound hit her. She stood silently, wondering for a moment if that had been her own feet on the stair, before the sound hit again faintly nearby. Saphira inched towards it, wondering if it was Eragon and Thorn..._were they playing games with her?_ Oh my God...did they leave her down there on purpose? Were the squeaks their stifled laughter as they watched her grappling in the dark?

"Hey guys? Is that you?" her voice was whispered against the loud silence as she began inching up the stairs again. "This is _not cool man_...not cool...!" her voice was harsh in a murmur. Yet nothing but silence answered her. Sighing, Saphira trudged on quietly, noting a dim light shimmering above her. It was a faint glow that petered out into a weak hair of amber towards the top of the stairs and she could see that there was a landing above. The light drew her towards it, and her feet hurried quietly up them, itching to get out of the deafening dark below.

It wasn't long before Saphira found herself on the first floor, wondering inwardly where the hell had Eragon and Thorn disappeared to. The light was painfully faint, and most of everything was drenched in shadow. She stood frozen for a moment before the squeaking sound hit again, and she rushed towards it. It did not take her long to find the sound...to find the light too.

Saphira found herself by a half opened door, which shot out bright amber light in the dark hall. The squeaking sound was very audible now and so were frustrated groans that shot through the silence. She had the distinct feeling that it was not Thorn and Eragon in there...she knew she should just turn around and try to find them...but curiosity got the best of her.

She had been right. It was not Thorn in there...neither was it Eragon...

Saphira's eyes were wide as they met Murtagh's half dressed figure pacing in the brightly lit room. He was in his boxers, his dark red shirt was unbuttoned and swaying against the exposed flesh of his toned stomach and chest as he paced back and forth before a large chest of drawers – his bare feet squeaking against the polished wooden floor. She drew back, her face in a flush..._She shouldn't be spying_...Saphira stood with her back against the wall, staring into the dark of the hall. The amber glare from the room was heavy against the side of her cheek. She turned into the dark intending to find her friends when a rough voice pierced through the thick silence.

_"Coward...!" _

Saphira froze, as Murtagh's voice bit at her. She was speechless, her tongue frozen in her mouth. –_Jesus Christ he had seen her!- _What the hell was she to say to him._ 'Uhm...sorry didn't mean to spy? I just happened to be here staring at you half naked in the dark like some depraved creature...- _Somehow, she didn't see that flying with Eragon's brother.

_"You're hiding... –"_

Saphira's heart hammered, her eyes wide as saucers. She was scared silent and found her feet glued to the doorjam. She should run...she should run right now, find Thorn and just get the hell outa there-

_"hiding from the past..."_ her face crinkled in confusion. _" This is it...This is it damn it!...Just...buck up...just open it...!_" Saphira grew even more confused as Murtagh's voice growled through the silence of the hall. She was sure that there was no one else in the room – _well no one that she could see- . _She turned again, pressing her eye against the tiny space of the ajar door. She saw Murtagh - _alone_. He had stopped pacing; he was slumped against the high chest of drawers before him. Hand still clutched to the nest of thick black hair – he looked like a crazed man. His other hand was banging softly against the wood. His breaths were harsh. Was he _crying? _

Her heart softened at his figure – at the tortured look on his face – the fear in his eyes – at that crazed grin that printed on his lips. He did not see her, but for the first time Saphira thought that she saw him –

She remembered what Thorn said to her. She sighed.

"_Just ...open it..." _His voice was tinged in emotion and he was shaking his head. He was trying to convince himself...trying to force himself to do something. Saphira did not know what – but she realized that whatever it was...it was painful for him. She swallowed harshly, head falling before she withdrew into the shadow, her curiosity quenched by this emotional scene.

She turned, that dank feeling stirring in her stomach again as Murtagh's image replayed in thought. Saphira stepped out into the dark once more leaving the light behind.

She would try to find Thorn and Eragon..elsewhere...

-X-

_She thinks of what he would say now...with this flame in her hand, their melting faces ablaze – _

_'You're burning memories...burning away our life?!' _

_He'd be outraged...but...he can't be...not right now...not anymore..._

_The thought is even more painful that the searing heat that nips at her fingers as the flame catches them. She winces, nearly dropping the burning photo on the wooden floor . –big mistake-_

_She blows it out instead, leaving the charred flaky remains to drift from her hands and unto the floor. She watches them for a moment and still- _

_The dress is too tight...the air too thick..._

_The smell of sulphur and ash and smoke and..._burning _...fills her nostrils..._

_She quivers, tears ripping at her eyes – she can still hear his voice – it claws through her and she gasps – inhaling shakily. She can't do this- be strong anymore – being strong is...killing her..._

_She has to – forget – yes...she has to burn it away_

- _The memories..._

_The words are whispered in thorough regret, as her fingers reach for another photo in the small pile she had carried back with her – a pile she had gotten from him..._

_'I'm ...sorry..."_

_The match strikes...the flame glows..._

_The burning continues..._

-X-

She had been found in the foyer where the upstairs corridor led to the main staircase and the staircase down to the very foyer that she had crossed before getting utterly lost in the dark upstairs. Thorn had been waiting by the foot of the main stairs, seemingly knowing somehow that she would have come there. Saphira caught his gaze as she tottered down, her green dress flapping about her knees as she hurried to meet him. There was a solid grin on her face, she had never been so happy to see him before. Upstairs had been dark and disturbing and so horribly silent - and the only sound that played in her head were Murtagh's angry demands, the choking emotion in his voice. No matter how she tried she somehow could not wipe his troubled image from mind.

She saw Thorn shift, straightening as he neared him, his eyes never leaving hers. He held a hand out to her, and she took it without hesitation as he helped her down the last steps.

"You have an affinity for getting lost, don't you...? I've been standing here for almost twenty minutes...What were you doing up there, sleeping?" His grin reached his eyes, and he looked relieved to see her as well.

Saphira shook her head at him, beaming, as she stepped unto the level of foyer, releasing her grip from his arm.

"Did I miss anything?" Saphira belatedly jumped at how loud her voice sounded in the silence of the foyer. Thorn smirked a bit at the slight embarrassment that captured her face, as he guided her down the same hall that they had taken before.

"Eragon's cousin's here with his girlfriend...You missed the rather awkward introduction..."

Saphira nodded, mind still flashing with images of Murtagh's tear stained cheeks, his hands gripping madly to his head. Thorn noted the absent look on her face.

"...The Hospital called, and they said your father..." Thorn's voice trailed off noting how each word drifted unnoticed over to Saphira. "They...said..." he smiled a bit, that mischievous child like smile. "..that...he gave birth to a litter of kittens, three girls and a boy..."

"Oh...that's nice..." Saphira's murmured, her eyes spaced out. -_Murtagh sobbing over the drawer, that horrible grin on his face-_

Thorn frowned as they came to the end of the large hall where the expansive glass window looked out into the dark driveway below.

"Also I'm a vampire that sparkles in the moonlight...you know...instead of the sunlight...Did you know that?" There was amusement in his voice, his smile, yet his eyes held hints of concern.

Saphira nodded, grunting a yes, before Thorn grasped her by the shoulders. She snapped out of it as he shook her gently, his face completely serious now.

"Saphira, you didn't hear _one _thing I just said did you...?" The question was declarative. Saphira looked lost for a moment under those scrutinizing sea green eyes. She sighed, shutting her mouth, and shamefaced she shook her head in the negative. Thorn sighed, as he looked her down contemplatively. He then straightened, eyes furrowing.

"There's something wrong...?"

Saphira shook her head too quickly, stepping away from Thorn to stand by the opened window where a cool draft lingered. Thorn's eyes furrowed even deeper. He stood behind her, watching her tense figure inhale sharply before she turned to him again. He saw the troubled look in her eyes. He gave an encouraging smile.

"I know that your worried about your dad Saph- but, everything's going to be .o.k...The hospital called while you were gone and they sa-"

"It's Murtagh..."

Thorn shut up then as it blurted from her suddenly; she looked frightened at her eruption as if not anticipating it at all. The smile on Thorn's face dissipated as he stepped closer to her.

"...You saw him upstairs...?" another declarative question.

Saphira nodded slowly, that troubled expression deepening in her dark blue eyes. Thorn slowly exhaled a sudden tension in his stomach springing to life.

"This time of the year, is always difficult for him...he gets on edge." He murmured darkly, drifting over to stand beside her by the opened window. He slumped against the window ledge, enjoying the cool draft that whistled in and the silver glint of the moonlight driveway and lawn below. He then turned to her suddenly, concern on his brow. "He didn't say anything to you did he? ...I mean, anything _rude..._"

Saphira looked confused shaking her head. "no..." _'He didn't even see me' - _She almost murmured, but decided against it.

She then turned back to the window. " I think...I think there's something wrong..."'

Thorn shook his head. "He's fine...its just...this day - it's never pleasant." His voice tightened as he remembered the years before, the screaming, the shouting...the tears, "..._never..._"

He turned from her, motioning for her to follow him into the very same room Saphira had thought locked before she had wandered upstairs. Saphira complied, abandoning the window to trail Thorn. But as they stepped through the door, Saphira grasped Thorn by the arm, and he caught the serious look in her eyes . He remembered that strange discernment that he had seen in Saphira when they had been curled up in the living room riding out the angry battering of the storm outside. It caused her next words to weigh into the already churning cauldron of worry in his chest that he had been trying to hide from her.

"I think its more than that...there's something wrong...maybe something else. I have a bad feeling about it..."

Her words were lead, sinking into him heavily as they entered the soft candle light glowing intensely in the large dining room. He saw Brom alone, sitting like a statuette at the head of the table. There were deep shadows etched into the lines of his face - he look beaten and battered and tired - like Murtagh always looked at this time of year...but there was something else in his eyes - _defeat?_

But...Murtagh wasn't there...neither was Eragon - or the cousin...or even the girlfriend ...They had gone on their little house tour and Murtagh was still upstairs he assumed. Thorn drew out a chair for Saphira before sitting down himself - the dark feeling in the pit of his stomach refused to give way. Saphira had a bad feeling about it...

Well...so had he...he had been having that bad feeling since the arrest - He had managed to ignore it for the past days but now - now Saphira had it too...and that made it all the worse.

His stare was clad upon the table, his gaze boring darkly upon the table cloth. A familiar darkness seeped through his facade, ridding of the childish aura that Saphira had loved - and there was no boy Thorn left now - only the man - only the one that seen the hell and fire and dark - who had seen too much for a youth.

Thorn almost jumped as he felt a sudden warmth on his hand which suddenly had become so very cold. He looked questioningly at Saphira before glancing at the direction to where she was staring. His gaze fell. It was Murtagh...striding in, dressed to the nines - there was an odd smile planted on his face - it brightened catching Thorn's figure as he nodded over to the both of them, then took a seat across from theirs. Thorn could not smile back - He was many things - but he was not a fool...he saw through it, that almost crazy grin - he saw the darkness stirring in his friends gut - deep and painful...and he saw more than anything else the tear stains on his cheeks, the flush in his face.

Murtagh had been crying -

And something _was_ wrong...it wasn't the arrest - that was gone...and maybe just maybe it wasn't this day either. Thorn locked on those ice blue eyes, the dread that lingered in them - It was something else...and He had a bad feeling about it.

.

* * *

Yes, it's hell short but remember its only part one, so its literally one chapter in two. I didn't like the flow of the dinner right after - it felt disjointed somehow, so I just split it right there. I'll be posting the follow up Chapter soon. So yes, with Thorn and Saphira and the cousin/and girlfriend it's gonna be a rather full dinner table.

-S.B.


End file.
